


Where the Heart Lies

by AmanitaMuscaria2018



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Character Death, Developing Friendships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsession, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-11-01 17:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17871701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmanitaMuscaria2018/pseuds/AmanitaMuscaria2018
Summary: Kadan: where the heart lies; a term for close friends, colleagues, and relations.Maraas was saved from a life in service to the Qun at a young age when her powers manifested. Taught to fear magic, she struggles to embrace herself and her own abilities, until a mysterious elf opens her eyes to her own strengths.Alistair walked away from his father's throne and royal responsibilities. He struggles with an order that stands apart from humanity in order to save it, until they sacrifice their own humanity in the process. Running away from destiny can only get you so far.An ancient slumbering evil awakens, and hearts burning with anger allow it to rip the world asunder. As time unravels and worlds collide, an agent of the Qun and a possessed mage both seek to use Maraas for their own ends. Fortunately her new friends stand ready to remind her of what counts.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting, hope you enjoy it! This will be in two parts, with the second being a completely different version of Trespasser. Starring my Inky, a deeply confused Qunari mage and Alistair, who had me at "putting on a dress and dancing the Remigold." This first chapter is a prologue/preview introduced by my favorite dwarf with the sexiest chest hair. Feedback/critique is welcome, and in fact encouraged! I want to do the world of Thedas and its characters justice :).

"There's a recipe to a good hero, Hawke. It's like alchemy. One part down to earth, one part selfless nobility, two parts crazy, and you season liberally with wild falsehoods. You let that percolate through a good audience for a while, and when it's done, you've got your hero."

\- Varric Tethras

 

_My name is Varric Tethras. Surface dwarf, merchant prince of House Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasional unwelcome tag-along. I manage the business of my House, maintain a spy network (among other things), and am prone to extravagant lies. Of all the things I'm known for, the one that seems to draw the most womanly squeals is "friend to the Champion of Kirkwall." But that's a different story._

_I first met our bastard prince, ex-templar and Grey Warden, Alistair, in my favorite rundown little hole in the wall called the Hanged Man. He wasn't the first bastard prince I had ever met or only ex-templar I had spoken to that day. Nor was he the only Grey Warden I had beaten at cards that week, but something about him caught my interest. He reminded me of all the stories I had never finished: lying discarded, musty and forgotten in the ass end of Kirkwall, with all the potential of a great book, but lacking the heart to finish the tale._

_He was a terrible card player, and he smelled of piss and bad ale--though the whole place smelled that way, so I could hardly fault him for it. His jokes were worse than his stench and he was practically pickled from constant drink, but I liked him. Hawke and I were always looking for an opening to ask about his past, but we could never get a thing from him beyond that he had almost been the King of Ferelden, and his dog was named Barkspawn. He also hated the Hero of Ferelden with a vehemence I reserved for the Merchants Guild. Any time the man was mentioned, even in passing, Alistair would groan loudly, spit, and order a stronger drink--usually on my tab. The only thing he would say of the man who had ended the Fifth Blight was that he was a murderer and a blood mage--hell, I've known more of those than I cared to count._

_My friend and once pirate captain, Isabella, has tried on many occasions to get him into bed, citing that a good tumble would clear his mind, or at least bring him peace for a night, but every time, he cried and mumbled something about roses and "the way her hair smelled." I didn't know if this rose carrying and scented girl was a ghost or had three kids and a dog back in Ferelden by now, but it was clear she was one of many things that haunted this man._

 

"I'll bet it's huge. Just look at those meaty paws," Isabella whispered gleefully, eyeing the drunken bastard prince from across the tavern. "Dirty, but huge."

The prince's face was mostly obscured by the flickering shadows cast by the crackling fires in the hearths and braziers. The poor lighting and slight haze from the fire smoke gave him an almost enigmatic air and all but hid the signs of self neglect. He sat brooding into a tankard, ignoring the talkative man sharing his table. Varric spared him a sympathetic glance as he took a sip of his own drink. 

"What's huge?" Merrill asked innocently, big green eyes twinkling curiously. "His sword?"

Laughter erupted around the table and Hawke wrapped an arm around the slender shoulders of his naive sweetie. "Oh, Merrill. I love you."

"Yes, Kitten," Isabella said, patting the other woman's hand gently. "That's exactly what I meant."

"Oh!" Her elven ears practically perked up and those almost alien eyes went wide with realization. "I missed something dirty again. You mean his-"

Hawke stood abruptly, almost knocking down his chair. "Who's for another round? I know I'll need another before Anders arrives to drone on about the plight of the mages."

"Oh yes," Isabella mused. "If I get drunk enough, I may just plough the plight right out of him."

"Is there anyone you won't take to bed, Rivaini?" Varric asked sarcastically, and Hawke all but ran for the bar, ears burning red. Varric noticed the curious look exchanged by the women at the table and casually steered the conversation to the latest rumors. Isabella shared the tidbits she had gleaned at the Blooming Rose, and Varric turned them over in his mind to derive some semblance of fact. He began shuffling cards as they spoke, fixing to settle in for a friendly hand of Wicked Grace. He flicked his eyes over to the bar and noticed Hawke had been cornered by another patron, likely asking his help and many in Kirkwall were wont to do.

A breeze permeated the stale air, and Varric glanced up from his cards to see Anders holding the door for a hooded figure to enter before him. Cloak and dagger wasn't exactly an oddity around here, but something about this one caught Varric's attention. He could practically smell the story emanating from the decidedly female figure as she sat at a table, beckoning for the waitress, Norah. In fact, he could almost smell a pleasant floral scent accompanying her arrival, and that of itself in Lowtown was strange enough to warrant notice.

"Evening," Anders said in unusually high spirits as he slid into the seat beside him, breaking his loose focus on the shrouded woman. "Fenris isn't here, is he?"

"No, the broody elf has yet to make an appearance," Varric said absently, dealing him in. He discreetly glanced back over at the other table, and was disappointed to find the woman had vanished. Pushing it from his mind, he turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. "I hear you had another run in with the templars today. Cutting things awfully close, Blondie?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," the mage scoffed noncommittaly. "However, I haven't had any Undercity thugs at my door in quite sometime. You wouldn't have anything to do with that would you?"

Varric snorted. "You must have me confused with someone else. I'm just a businessman and a storyteller. Are we playing?" 

Anders grunted as he surveyed his hand. "So, have I missed anything exciting?"

"Isabella was saying dirty things about the drunk prince again," Merrill chimed in, drink coloring her cheeks, and Varric made a mental note to remind Corff that he should be watering down her drinks. 

"Oh, she hasn't succeeded yet? Maybe he doesn't like..." he trailed off, waving a hand toward the pirate's ample cleavage.

"My winning personality?" she offered.

"Yes, maybe that's it."

"Perhaps you should try, Anders. It might be good for both of you," Isabella said slyly. 

"That's not really my thing," Anders said, gazing starry eyed toward Hawke who was rejoining them with fresh--that is, if you didn't look too closely--glasses. 

"Hello Anders!" He greeted animatedly, as usual, oblivious to the zealous mage's intensity toward him. "Flambe any templars today?"

The good natured razzing continued around the table until Fenris arrived, and it wasn't long before Anders got into his usual pissing match with the lyrium tattooed elf. Varric did his best to keep the peace, and dealt the newcomer in, settling in to win a fair amount of gold off from his friends that they would inevitably get back in favors anyway. The shrouded woman was quickly forgotten, but little did he know the importance she would play in events to come.


	2. The Bastard Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope I don't lose anyone with how I'm jumping around in the timeline and in perspective! I'm trying to introduce the major players, the world around them, and give a feel for their character/feelings before getting to it. Also, opinions detailed on other characters of Dragon Age will not necessarily reflect my own; I'm writing with the thoughts and feelings of my characters (e.g. Alistair really hates Morrigan, but I happen to very much appreciate her)

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,

I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.

I shall endure.

What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

\--Canticle of Trials 1:10

 

_4 years earlier, Denerim..._

 

The sound of metal against metal rang out as Alistair's sword met Loghain's. Twice more, the younger man parried, teeth gritting with the effort. Loghain, at least 20 years his senior, proved adept with his sword--more skilled than Alistair to be sure. As his opponent gained ground, he wondered if he had made a grave mistake agreeing to this duel. 

Alistair caught Loghain's blow meant for his head, and the two locked eyes through the slits in their visors. "Not bad," Loghain said in an amused tone, seemingly unharried by their match. "For a Chantry raised bastard."

The said bastard knocked the other's blade aside and swung, only to have it glance off his shield. Loghain, not missing a beat, took advantage to plunge upward toward Alistair's exposed right side, but he danced away at the last second, almost losing his footing. The usurper gave a wicked laugh, and Alistair growled his rage as he lashed out with more fervor. Once! Twice! Three times his blows were matched until he landed a lucky one, slicing through a weak spot of the man's armor. Loghain hissed, falling back and lowering his hand to touch the blood there. He lifted the gauntlet and stared at it as if it had given him personal insult. "And the whelp has bite to him," he mused, lifting his visor with the other hand.

Wasting no time, Alistair rushed him again, putting all of his weight behind his shield to knock him to the ground. The older man's helm and sword were both knocked aside with the force of his fall, clattering across the stone floor in either direction. Even from his prone position, Loghain anticipated his opponent's next move, rolling away in the direction of his sword and coming up to shield bash Alistair as all his weight had gone into the failed strike. Alistair stumbled away, but quickly righted his footing, pulling his shield up and glaring over to see Loghain stood in a guarded stance with a smile on his face. The bastard prince was enraged by the other's casual air, and tore off his own helmet to cast it aside, refusing to hold any advantage when he defeated him. Reddish brown hair matted with sweat and golden eyes burning with hatred, he faced the man who had not only betrayed his brother, King Cailan, but had left the other Grey Wardens--the only real family Alistair had ever known--for dead.

Face once bright with humor, Alistair was a changed man. He had lost everyone he had held dear, and he was now dueling for the hand of a woman he would never love and a throne he had never wanted. But if he could kill the man before him, it would bring him some solace and he would happily live out his days being King and doing whatever was expected of him. The court around him blurred into nothing, their cacophony fading into the distance, and the world narrowed to just him and the sinister King-regent before him.

"You know how to handle a sword, I'll give you that," Loghain called. "But you're outclassed and outmatched. You're in over your head, _boy_." He began sidestepping to circle around Alistair, who mirrored the movement. "Do you really believe you can lead a nation? Do you believe you can make my daughter happy? Give her, and all of Ferelden an heir of the precious Theirin bloodline? Even Cailan couldn't manage that. He elected to roll over and play the bitch to the Orlesians. Maric would weep if he could see his kingdom now. You may share his blood, but you're not half the man he was."

"Neither are you!" Alistair growled between his teeth, charging forward. "For Duncan! For the Grey Wardens!"

In the stretch of a heartbeat, Alistair lashed out with a righteous fury that soon wrenched sword and shield from Loghain's hands. With a steel boot, he sent the now unarmed usurper to the ground and brought the point of his sword to the man's throat. "What are you waiting for?" Loghain rasped through his teeth. "Do it!"

Alistair gave a loud yell and brought his sword up for the killing blow. "Alistair wait!" Came Riordan's voice and he stayed his hand. Training and honor preventing him from disobeying the senior Warden breaking from the crowd. "There is another option. This man need not die in vain."

Alistair knew what he meant, and the thought soured his stomach. "After all this man has done? To the Wardens? To Ferelden?"

"The Grey Wardens have but one purpose, one goal," Riordan reminded him. "We take all kinds. And let us not forget we face a Blight, and we are but three facing an Archdemon."

The Blight. The Archdemon and its hoard of darkspawn. He was right; their order only truly cared about one thing. But at that moment, all of it paled in comparison to what this man had done. It was surely not worth the cost. 

"He's right, Alistair," came the voice of the only man Alistair hated possibly more than the one he was poised to kill. Daylen Amell came to stand beside Riordan. "The Right of Conscription. We need him."

Warden Amell was the newest of the three Wardens, but somehow he had become the leader of their group. If the Wardens' purpose was to stop the Blight at all costs, this man's purpose was to make it as costly as possible. Despite being raised in the Chantry and trained as a templar, Alistair was far from being a choir boy. But Amell stood against everything he knew to be right and just in this world. 

"Hang the Right of Conscription! Over my dead body will this man become a Grey Warden!" Alistair yelled over his shoulder, sword still raised over his head.

"Alistair, be reasonable." Amell's light brown hair was pulled neatly back from his face, and he was as composed as a Chantry mother. He was every inch a pampered tower mage, though he was far from his tower. 

"You would ask this of me?" Alistair's voice was verging on hysterical. "After everything you have taken from me, you would have this as well?"

Amell's face tightened and he scoffed as a long suffering parent might. "Consider instead, what I have given you. All the power you need to stop the Blight, and your throne, there for the taking. And a lovely bride, who will be most pleased if you spare her father."

Alistair risked a glance over at Queen Anora, his brother's widow. Long, lithe, blonde, and elegant. Arguably the real authority behind the throne if rumor could be believed. But he didn't want to marry her. And he didn't want a kingdom who required such an outlandish display just to take the Blight seriously.

With an audible sigh, he lowered his sword and addressed the man beneath him. "I hope you enjoy the Joining. It's to die for. And do say hi to the Archdemon for me." He turned on his heel to face Amell. "I'm through. With Ferelden. With the Grey Wardens. And most of all, I'm through with you, Daylen Amell."

He started toward the great doors that would lead him out of the Landsmeet, ignoring Amell as he called after him. The queen, realizing what was happening, called out, "You can't just walk away! You're acting like a petulant child. If you abdicate, you must swear fealty to me!"

 _Fealty?_ He thought angrily.  _She's out of her damned mind._  He turned back, unable to resist. "Hang your fealty! Hang the kingdom of Ferelden! Blight take you all!"

The commotion that erupted behind him would have made the old Alistair laugh, but this new one found no humor in this dark day. He heard Arl Eamon, his uncle of sorts, calling from behind him, but he dared not look back, dared not meet the betrayal he would find in the man's eyes. Best if Alistair left the country he had been born and raised in. Leave and never look back.

He noticed the witch, Morrigan, out of the corner of his eye as he emerged into the grey afternoon. The heaviness of the atmosphere either indicated rain, or just the usually uncomfortable presence of the witch of the wilds. A whine from the level of her kneecaps told him that his dog had accompanied her. He couldn't look at them, because he might falter. He determined that he wouldn't stop walking until he was at the City Gates, or perhaps out of Ferelden entirely. Maker forbid he ever set foot in Orlais, but perhaps the Free Marches, or Nevarra-

"Alistair," came the witch's soft voice, and he froze, despite himself.

"Just... don't," he pleaded, not turning around.

"You could walk away from your home? Walk away from your kingdom in its time of need? How very... noble of you," she prodded.

He whirled about to stare down the skin and bone, scantily clad woman. Raven haired with sharp, sultry features, he could consider her beautiful if perhaps she had a few good meals and weren't so... evil. He was still unclear on why Amell had allowed her to follow them from the Wilds in the first place. Nor did he understand why his dog had taken a sudden interest in her when she had been nothing but unkind to him.

"Oh spare me," he said. "You're thrilled to see me go. You and Daylen can skip about holding hands and holding blood magic rituals to your wicked little hearts content. That is, if you even have one." In truth, he had never seen this woman cast so much as a single blood magic spell, though he had seen Amell do it on numerous occasions. 

A quirk of her lip could have been amusement or malice. "You could be the king this country needs. You could give them back their precious Theirin bloodline. But it's of no consequence to me."

"Then go bother Amell," he snarled, wishing nothing more than to be far away from this place.

"He will die," she said simply. She was reeling him in for something and every instinct inside him screamed to walk away.

"You know this?" He asked, unable to help himself. "Did you have some creepy ritual and see the future?"

"Clairvoyance was not what I brought. What I possess is knowledge. I know how a Grey Warden kills an Archdemon. The question is, do you?"

He didn't. He honestly hadn't believed he would live long enough to see a Blight when he had joined the Grey Wardens, and it was likely they hadn't thought so either. They certainly hadn't gotten around to sharing all of those details which turned out to be so crucial. "It's in the blood, right? Has something to do with the taint."

"The Grey Warden who makes the killing blow dies. He absorbs the soul of the Archdemon, and both... die." She paused for her words to sink in, and Alistair couldn't find words or even breath. "But it doesn't have to be this way."

Alistair licked his lips and found his voice. "So that's why Mommy Dearest sent you along. She taught you some creepy blood magic ritual that is precisely what we need. Just open a vein and wave your hands, and no one has to pay any consequences, right?"

"It's not blood magic--at least, not as you understand it. It is simply very old magicks."

"What sort of magicks?" He asked suspiciously.

She averted her gaze and let her breath out slowly. For a time, she was so silent, he could hear the commotion from inside the stone walls and the baying of a dog in the distance. "Lie with me tonight," she said so softly he could barely hear her.

He recoiled from her, eyebrows shooting skyward. "Come again?"

"Lie with me," she repeated, this time meeting his eyes, something indecipherable in hers. "We will conceive a child-"

"Oh, I'm not hearing this," he said, whirling away from her.

"The child will carry the taint and can withstand the absorption of the archdemon; it will possess the soul of an Old God."

"If you think I'm giving you a child with royal blood, and apparently the soul of an Old God-" He made a disgusted sound. "If you think I would even touch you, you... you foul harpy-"

He saw the hurt pass over her eyes briefly before it was replaced by her typical annoyance. "Even if it would save a life?"

"Engage in some infernal sex magic you cooked up? Some dark magic that produces demon babies?"

"It would not be a demon," she spat. "It's not some ploy to get you to bed or folly of a naive mind. It is ancient magic that existed far longer than you've graced the earth. Something your father had some respect for."

His hands were on her upper arms before he even knew what he was doing. "What do you know about my father?"

She didn't move, but her eyes conveyed the threat she possessed. "Have a care, Alistair. I'm no Circle mage taught to be brought to heel by the Chantry's dogs."

He loosened his grip, and took a step back. Her mother being the Witch of the Wilds of legend, he did not wish to match his mettle against hers. "If you know something about my father..."

"And here I thought you were turning your back on your heritage." Her golden eyes bore into his, burning with intensity. Alistair looked away first, his hands fisting at his sides. A low rumble began overhead, and he glanced up to watch the dark roiling clouds.

"Fine," he said finally in resignation. "Keep your secrets. And bring your... dark ritual to Amell. He'll probably salivate at the prospect. Barkspawn, come." He moved to walk away, but his dog didn't follow. "You're going to stay with her? She doesn't even like you, and she may even feed you people parts. Tainted people parts." Morrigan groaned, and the dog whimpered, dashing to his side. Loyal Mabari at his side, the disgraced bastard prince walked away as rain started falling and thunder cracked in the sky.

For four years, Alistair ran away from his destiny, his calling, his purpose. Daylen Amell never performed Morrigan's Dark Ritual, and no one would ever know or know why. Perhaps a crisis of conscience; maybe the faces of all the innocents he killed or allowed to die haunted his dreams. For whatever reason, he took the killing blow, slaying the Archdemon, and died in the process, so being named the Hero of Ferelden. Morrigan disappeared into the ether after that final battle, and the other remaining companions scattered to the winds. Loghain, now a Grey Warden and a veteran of the Blight- once again a hero in the eyes of Ferelden, despite having committed regicide- remained in Ferelden as a most trusted advisor to the throne. Arl Eamon, having lost his family to a demon and his lands to the Blight, succumbed to his despair. And Queen Anora resumed ruling the kingdom solitarily. It was as prosperous a reign as one could expect after a Blight, and she was a fair monarch. But there were those who still lamented the loss of their rightful king. 

 

**********************************************

_9:34 Dragon, Kirkwall, The Hanged Man_

 

Alistair snorted at the nonsensical statement his current table mate was uttering. Something about voices in the dark or... well, it didn't matter. Or at least, the more he drank, the less anything mattered. He took another long pull from his glass and receded into the haze in which he had existed for the past several months. He heard the laughter from Varric and Garrett Hawke's table, and he tried unsuccessfully to not think of a time when he was surrounded by friends and companions of his own, sharing such warmth.

"Hey love!" He called to the serving woman, whose name escaped him. "Some- _hic!-_ thing stronger?"

She rolled her eyes haughtily and walked back toward the bar, but he doubted he would see the drink he strongly desired. At least not for a long time yet. He brooded into his half empty glass of ale that tasted something akin to piss, and muttered a vague acknowledgement to the sickly man across the table from him.

He had been in Kirkwall for... He was most uncertain to how long it had been, but it felt like a lifetime of bad ale and the smell of bodily fluids. He had taken bounties for a time after leaving Ferelden, clearing darkspawn or minor bandits, mostly to pay for his drinks and warm place to sleep. After a while, it had become just enough to pay his bar tab, and now he found himself living off whatever kindness anyone offered in this cheery hole in the wall. More often than not, it was the dwarf Varric, or his friend Hawke who was something of a hero around here.

Alistair scoffed at the idea and downed the rest of his ale with one big gulp. Heroes. What good were they truly for? It seemed to him that a hero was only as good as the stories told of him. Once he could have been considered one, but look at him now. _You're nothing but a bastard who couldn't live up to his name._

He sniffed irritably and immediately regret it. He wondered, not for the first time, whose piss he was smelling. A shuffling alerted him to Barkspawn, who was hiking a leg on the wall not far from where he was sitting, and urine splashed onto his trousers that were already filthy from being worn far too many days. He shrugged, settling in to wait however long it would take for that stronger drink to find him. 

A draft wafted in the fishy smelling coastal breeze of Kirkwall, heralding the arrival of another patron. He glanced up disinterestedly and watched as a haggard figure hobbled inside, tucked inside a hooded cloak. The man who followed was a friend of Hawke and Varric's, and one he had immediately recognized as a fellow Grey Warden the moment he had arrived in town. The two had vaguely acknowledged one another and made a point to stay out of the other's way. Just the way he preferred. The hooded figure he didn't recognize, but something about her--for it was surely a her--had caught his attention. She was likely nothing more than another miserable inhabitant of Kirkwall Lowtown, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her somehow. He heard a canine groan underneath the table, and knew it couldn't be his imagination. The woman took a seat at a table across the tavern and exchanged a few words with a serving woman. He watched her slide a coin sack into the woman's hand, holding it meaningfully for a time before releasing her. Alistair sat up straighter and puzzled over what he was seeing. 

"I tell you, they're down there! Tunneling in the ground!" His companion spouted, breaking his concentration. 

Alistair glared over at the man and debated if it was even worth responding. Instead, he reached over and took the man's drink, downing it in one swallow. The man simply stared at him with his wild eyes, before he pushed off and went to find someone else to listen to his raving. With any luck, Alistair would have peace for the rest of the evening before he found some place inconspicuous to pass out. He glanced back at the hooded woman's table and found it empty. He pushed down the disappointment and resumed his brooding over his lack of alcohol. 

The serving woman bustling in beside him caught his attention. He turned expectantly, hoping it was another drink, but instead, she pressed a folded scrap of parchment into his hand and walked away. Narrowing his eyes after the woman, he unfolded it in his lap and glanced down to see the words "Room 3." He stared at the note dumbly before risking a glance over at the large bosomed spitfire of a woman perched at Hawke's table, wondering if it was another ploy to get him into bed. As she was currently hefting her ample cleavage in the direction of Hawke's Grey Warden friend, he doubted it. It occurred to him that it could be some sort of ambush, but he couldn't think of a single person who might go to so much trouble here and now. Loghain and her high-and-mightiness certainly would not have waited so long to come after him. In any event, he was too drunk and curious to worry about the intentions of whomever awaited, and he stood to make his way for the stairs.

As he reached the top of the stairs that would take him to the staying rooms, he wondered if he should have asked which room was "room 3," but Barkspawn bounded ahead of him to scratch at a door, leaving no room for doubt. He hesitantly pushed the door open enough to peer inside. The room within was just as dingy as the bar downstairs, and was sparsely furnished. It was dimly lit by the same braziers and hearth as well. There were no windows or any other exits to provide means of escape, and he gulped as he let himself in, Barkspawn pushing past him impatiently.

Sitting with her back to him in front of a blazing fire was the hooded woman from the bar. "Come in, Alistair," a very familiar, musical voice with an Orlesian accent greeted, sending chills of mixed desire and fear down his spine. He did as he was told on shakey legs, and pushed the door closed behind him. The woman stood then, turning and lowering her hood as his dog began skipping around her like a puppy, barking excitedly. In return, she kneeled and accepted his slobbery kisses gladly. "Oh, Barkspawn! It's so wonderful to see you!"

The air rushed from Alistair's lungs and he dropped to his knees, refusing to believe the sight before him. The red hair, the sultry grey eyes, the perfect lips... it couldn't be real. "L-leliana," he gasped. "But... I... you..."

"Eloquent as ever," she said with a giggle that was the sound of bells, the feeling of spring after a long winter. 

"You... died," he managed, tears slipping from his eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the floor and she took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. "The Maker decided it wasn't my time."

"The Maker? Your head flew across the Temple! Amell killed you!" He yelled. "By Andraste, you can't just... it's not..."

Leliana's hands were suddenly on his face, wiping away the tears. "Maker! You smell like human waste," she gasped, but embraced him nonetheless.

The tortured man furled his hands into her hair and inhaled her scent. He sobbed as he held her close, worried she would disappear, fade away as all of his dreams did. He pulled her face down to claim her lips in a kiss, but she pulled away. His chest tightened and he wept. "I don't understand."

"Alistair..." she said sadly. "So much has changed."

He felt more sober than he had in months, as if he had been doused with cold water. He was keenly aware of how foul he smelled, and Maker, how he must have  _looked._ Of course she no longer wanted him. 

"You are, and always will be, a most cherished  _friend,"_ she continued. "But our time together... that was in the past. We're both different people now."

"I..." he broke off with a sob. "I can be that man again."

"No, my love. People are meant to grow, to change. They are meant to find new paths in life. It is the Maker's will."

 _Just what did the Maker bring people back from the dead to do?_ He wondered. "And... what is your path?"

She smiled wanly, pulling a necklace from beneath her cloak to twirl it around her finger. He recognized it as the Silver Sword of Mercy, and he stiffened. "I serve the Divine."

Emotion ripped through him as he remembered the day he found the charm gracing her necklace. Voice thick with emotion, he said, "So you've returned to the Chantry, then? And you're... what was the word you used?"

"Affirmed?" She smiled knowingly. "Not in so many words, but I have given myself fully to the will of Her Most Holy in service to the Maker."

"And just what is the will of the Divine?" He asked, still not understanding.

"At present," she said, turning to study the fire with a distant look on her face. "It is merely to observe. She wants to be kept informed of the growing... situation in Kirkwall. It was simply luck--or perhaps the will of the Maker--that I heard of the drunk prince in the Hanged Man." She said the last with a smile, and it sent a pang to his heart. And other places.

The Qunari, he realized. He had not been aware enough to wonder why they were here, but he was not so far gone that he failed to notice the horned giants' presence, and in large number. He remembered Sten, the one who had accompanied them as they built their army to face the Fifth Blight.  _"The day will come when the Arishok sends us here. On that day, Kadan, I will not look to find you on the battlefield."_ Alistair shuddered at the thought of another Exalted March and a war with a friend's people.

Leliana sensed what he was thinking. "Her Holiness will not act impulsively." He hoped she was right. "But you have other things to worry about. It's time to return to your calling."

For a horrifying moment he thought she meant the Grey Warden Calling, but he realized she had meant it in a grander sense. "That part of my life is over."

"Alistair," she said softly. "You can't keep running from your destiny. And it was my understanding that joining the Grey Wardens was for life."

She was right about that. No matter how far from the order he ran, he would never escape the eventual fate of all Wardens. But that didn't mean he felt compelled to be a part of some greater destiny. He had given up on that when he had left Ferelden. "I am a pale shadow of who I used to be, Leliana. I can't go back."

"To Ferelden, perhaps not yet. In time. But you must go back to the Wardens. They need you."

"The Blight is ended," Alistair said bitterly. " _Daylen Amell_ saw to that."

Leliana visibly cringed at the name. "He may have killed the Archdemon, but something bigger is coming. I can feel it."

Alistair stared at her long and hard, and wondered if she had had another dream. Like the one that had compelled her to join them against the Blight. "So, what is it I'm supposed to do?"

"If I'm not mistaken, there are members of your order in town."

"Hawke's friend, I know," he said dismissively.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I meant a group of them. Surely you sensed their presence?"

He hadn't. It was either the constant intoxication, or these ones had done their best to remain obscured. "And what, I just walk up to them and say, 'Hey guys! Let's go hunt some darkspawn!'"

"Joke all you want, Alistair. I know you can't just stand back and do nothing." She glanced over and studied him in a scrutinizing way. "You will need to get cleaned up first."

Alistair scratched the scraggly reddish brown fuzz encompassing his jawline. "Yes, well, it's hard to find a good bath in the slums."

"Go the Chantry. Tell Grand Cleric Elthina that Sister Nightingale sent you, and you will be taken care of. I cannot speak for the rest of her congregation, but she can be trusted. She will help you." 

Alistair sighed. After the years of his youth confined inside Chantry walls, he loathed the idea of returning to one. But she had a point. They would see him clean, groomed, sobered, and clothed in something that didn't smell like dog urine and vomit. He would do as Leliana instructed.

"When you are able, you should seek out Warden Stroud and Bethany Hawke," she continued and he blinked. "Yes, Garrett Hawke's sister. She is a Grey Warden as well."

He wondered why he hadn't heard this before, but imagined it was something too painful to talk about. Joining the order was not usually a happy affair. "Alright. I will do this for you."

"Do this for yourself," she said simply. 

The rest of the evening passed with brief reminiscing of times past and Leliana's vague accounting of her time since... coming back to life. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Couldn't reconcile this warm, flushed woman beside him with the image of her headless body and the pooling blood on the icy stone floor.

When they made to leave, she urged him to wait and leave separately. She embraced him a second time, holding him longer, and this time he dared not seek more. Just to have her near, feel her breath against his ear was enough to carry him through. But all too soon, she pulled away and disappeared through the door. He would not see her again for years to come. 


	3. Ch 2: The Saarebas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, to introduce my original character!

"The Maker says magic is to serve mankind...but we possess a responsibility to those who serve us... We cannot hail them when their magic is useful and lock them in a cage when it is inconvenient. They are the Maker's children, not to be tolerated, but to be cherished."

\- Divine Justinia V

 

 _9:28 Dragon Age;_ _Qunandar, Par Vollen_

 

Imekari-the qunari girl child-waited in the room for her Arvaarad. Sobs escaped from her, despite the constant reprimands for the display of emotion. White blonde hair fell in tangles around a face red and puffy from crying since mid morning. The collar around her neck bit into her flesh, an ever present physical reminder that her childhood had ended and the life she knew was forever lost to her. The disapproval from the elders in the room with her was palpable, even as they were blurred by the tears in her eyes. 

Saarebas, they called her. Dangerous thing. She had done something terrible, something unforgivable. Earlier that day, Tama had chastised her for something simple, as was her duty when Imekari did not get her task right, and the child's anger had raged out of control, as it was wont to do since she had begun her regular bleedings. But this time, that anger had built with such ferocity that it  _burned. S_ he had felt it beneath her skin, and she had watched it snake down her forearms as flames that leapt out at Tama, scorching the older Qunari's face. The woman who had raised Imekari had shrieked in pain and fear, and the girl had immediately fallen to her knees in contrition. But Tama would hear no apologies, nor pleas; she simply sent her away.

Imekari would no longer grow to become a member of the Ariqun, the Qunari priesthood; she was a mage, and a mage's place under the Qun was as a weapon, to be contained for its own safety and that of others.

Arvaarad, the one who holds back evil, entered the room, face obscured by his masked helm. He studied her like the dangerous thing she was. Grey white hair fell straight down to drape over his massive shoulders and battered horns stood proudly on the sides of his head. He exchanged words with the other elders, but she was so lost in her grief that she didn't follow their words. A shock from the collar rattled her bones, telling her that she had missed something important, and she grit her teeth. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and tried to focus on the elders speaking to her.

"Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun," Arvaarad said, removing his helmet to reveal his battle scarred face.  _There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun._ The calmness in his tone was a sharp contrast to the manner in which she had been spoken to since the incident. There was no anger in his words, but simply expectation. Life was to serve the Qun. Even as a weapon, she must serve the greater good. She followed the man from the room, focusing only on his strides, accepting Saarebas as the rest of the world blurred away.

Once they were alone, she watched as he retrieved a sewing kit. A whimper escaped her lips as she recalled the other Saarebas she had glimpsed only from afar- lips sewn shut and eyes vacant, little more than dumb Qalaba. Expecting a backhand for the insolent sound, she was surprised when the man lowered the needle and thread, cursing under his breath, "Vashedan." 

She blinked up at him in confusion. She knew she had done something wrong, and yet man stayed his hand. "I have held the leash many summers," Arvaarad said in Qunlat. "I have held back many dangerous things, Imekari. None quite as fair as you."

He studied her then, an intense look in his eyes she had no words to describe- hunger perhaps came close. She didn't understand what his words meant, nor did she know what he was intending to do. Of all the things she thought she could expect from her handler, slipping a Saarebas mask over her head and telling her not to make a sound was not one of them. A new terror filled her belly, and she stood on uncertain legs as he pulled her upright and out of the room. He led her out of the building and through the city streets, weaving in dizzying patterns she was unable to follow through the limited visibility of the mask.

Imekari licked her lips and managed through chattering teeth, "Arvaarad? Where are we going?"

"Hush, child," was all he would say.

She held her tongue as they continued past the military checkpoints and out of the gates. Salty air and the cries of birds told her before her eyes did that they had left the walls of Qunandar and were on the docks. Anxiety bloomed inside her anew as she listened to the waves of the Boeric Ocean lapping against the bottoms of ships. She heard hushed words and the clink of coin before she was led onto one such vessel.

"If you want to stay alive, Saarebas," came Arvaarad's harsh whisper in her ear. "You will remain silent and do exactly as I say."

She gulped and nodded, a barely perceptible bob of her head, and he relaxed his grip on her upper arm. She had no idea what was happening, but she was sure that this was not the usual treatment of a Saarebas.

 

Over rough seas they traveled, and onto strange shores. Imekari - Saarebas, she corrected her thinking - had never left Par Vollen, and she wondered at the sights, sounds, and smells of her surroundings. The farther they got from the island she was born on, the fewer Qunari she noticed, and the more bas, humans, they encountered. At last, Arvaarad removed her mask.

The collar stayed on her neck, for her own protection, he had said, but it seemed the need for discretion had passed. Saarebas still did not understand what they were doing or where they were going. That night, they camped in a strange forest filled with dense trees and bushes that differed from the rain forests and jungles she was accustomed to. The stars, at least, were the same, and she took comfort from the few she glimpsed through the canopy of branches above her head. Arvaarad was roasting an animal over the fire, the likes of which she had only seen in books- one that had spiked horns on its head before he skinned it- and the sweet scent of charring flesh made her stomach rumble. The bits of scrap he had risked handing to her on their journey had not come close to filling her belly.

"Will you tell me where we are going, Arvaarad?" She asked meekly.

The Qunari remained silent for so long that she thought he would not answer. Finally, he said, "Call me Kaaras." Navigator, as seemed fitting as he was navigating their journey. "You should choose a name as well."

A name? She thought in confusion. She had been Imekari, and now she was Saarebas. She said as much and he paused in turning the carcass over the flames. "How many summers have you seen, Imekari? Twelve?" She nodded hesitantly, and he continued. "Do you know the life of a Saarebas?"

"I am no longer a person, I am a thing. A dangerous thing, and I exist only to serve the Qun as a weapon. You are my Arvaarad, and you are to hold back the evil inside of me," she stated numbly. After a moment of thought, she added, "Will you cut out my tongue? I heard a story that you cut out their- our tongues."

Arvaarad- Kaaras- gave a short, humorless laugh that was more of a grunt. "No, I will not cut out your tongue. Nor am I going to leash you."

"But... won't I hurt you?"

He stared thoughtfully through the dark trees beyond their fire. "I have traveled the foreign lands, and I have seen the customs of the bas. I have seen their mages in positions of respect and power. It does not always end well, but I have seen that they can live better lives than we afford ours. I have come to question the Qun."

Saarebas gaped at the man. To question the Qun was unthinkable. It was... It simply was. Was he now Tal Vashoth? Was  _she_ Tal Vashoth?

"There is a mercenary group camped near here," Kaaras continued, and she jumped. "The Valo Kas. I... spared them once, in exchange for help when I was badly wounded. They had a healing mage who restored me so that I could return home. They will give us work. They will provide for us. It is a place for people like us."

A place outside the Qun. She couldn't fathom. "And... you will not hold my leash?"

"Tal Vashoth have no leash. They will train you in your magicks. You will be a mercenary. You will fight."

"I don't want to hurt people," she said sadly, violet eyes brimming with tears.

"Sometimes one must kill to live," he answered harshly. "You have two choices in life, Imekari: Kill or be killed. Do not forget."

The girl fell silent after that, staring at the flames with a mixture of anxiety and intrigue. Tama had taught her that there was no life outside the Qun, only madness. But she had also told her that she would be a Tamassran herself one day, teaching the children of the Qun. This had proven to be a lie. So much she had understood to be true was false. She gratefully accepted the food that Kaaras handed her, but she found she lacked the appetite she previously felt. After picking at the tough piece of meat for a time, she gave up and curled into the cloak she had been given a few towns back. With so many confusing thoughts in her head, she did not think she would sleep. But soon, as she stared up at the stars, exhaustion claimed her.

 

The Qunari- Vashoth, she corrected her thinking- at the Valo-Kas camp spoke in a strange tongue. One Kaaras seemed to understand and speak as well. The man allowed them to pass, and another led them to a tall tent where three other Vashoth waited. A man sat at a table with papers in front of him, one horn had been broken and worn to a nub, and he wore a stern look on his scarred face. A woman with no apparent horns and another man stood to either side of him, watching their approach with suspicion. They did not move or draw weapons, but their stance was warning enough.

Kaaras and the man at the table exchanged more words in the strange tongue, occasionally gesturing or glancing in her direction, and she squirmed under their attention. The elder Vashoth's focus fell fully on her, examining her in a calculating way, and she forced herself to sit still, hiding her fear. He said something to her that she didn't understand, and Kaaras hastily spoke again, this time in Qunlat.

"She doesn't speak common tongue."

"You will need to learn," the Vashoth told her in words she understood. "And you will need to start training immediately so you don't kill us with mage fire." He shifted back to what she assumed was "common tongue," and issued a command to the woman on his right who disappeared through the tent flap. She reappeared moments later with two gaudy steel bracers, each adorned with a single blue crystal that glowed unlike anything Saarebas had ever seen before. She held them toward the girl, who blinked in confusion. "These bracelets function much the same as your collar does. The difference is there are catches so that you may remove them yourself. Our mages find them less demeaning."

Some of the words didn't translate well, but the girl accepted them cautiously. She traced the glowing gem with a slender gray finger, and it pulsed in response to her touch. Her eyes widened in amazement. 

"Outside of training," the man continued. "You will be expected to wear these at all times until you have mastered control over your abilities. You may also train in a weapon, if you would like, as well as any of the skills we teach in the camp." He made some quick notes on the parchment in front of him. "We of the Valo-Kas take the name Adaar. What personal name do you take?"

The girl blinked in confusion. "I am Saarebas."

The man narrowed his eyes, and she knew at once that she had said the wrong thing. The woman who had remained silent until now said something to the man and he nodded. "I am Asaara, and I am to be your trainer," she said in Qunlat, holding out her hand, palm up to allow a few small sparks to flicker upward briefly. "In this land, you are still dangerous, but you can learn to control it. You are not a thing; you are someone, child."

The girl stared in astonishment. She felt a glimmer of hope, but she quickly repressed it as she recalled the way Tama's cheek scarred as the flame licked it. Holding back tears she did not want these strangers to see, she said meekly, "I am nothing."

The woman furrowed her brow sadly and looked as if she might say more, but the man cut her off impatiently, taking the response as a name. "Maraas Adaar. Welcome to the Valo Kas."

 

**********************************************************************************

_8 years later, Orlesian heartlands..._

 

Maraas's greatsword clanged against the man's armor, barely making an impact, and she growled in frustration. She dodged his counterstrike and whirled about for another hit, this time catching him well enough to draw out a pained noise.

"Maraas, meraad!" Asaara shouted from somewhere in Qunlat, which she oft did in battle. 

She inwardly groaned, but did as instructed, clapping her bracelets together so they fell away from her wrists. She hoped she would be able to retrieve them later, as Asaara had forbade her from acquiring new ones. The surge of mana was instant, like the return of blood flow after constriction, bringing with it a warmth that almost left her giddy. Focusing enough to channel it, she released it in a burst that hit her opponent as well as a man she had not seen approaching from behind with the force of the ocean tide. She brought her sword down through a weak spot in the prone man's armor, ending him, before summoning what remained of her mana pool to send a spear of ice into the face of the one trying to stand behind her. Asaara tossed a bottle of glowing blue substance that matched the gems in her bracelets that she now knew to be lyrium. She drank half of the potion in the bottle, choking on the bitterness, and felt the tingle of replenishing mana. Securing the rest into her belt pouch, she collected her bracers and moved on. 

They had been at it for the greater part of the afternoon, assisting a human lord clear some bandits from his land, and Maraas had begun to sweat beneath her armor. The coin was good, and she focused on that aspect as she felled three more bas in a similar fashion. She danced elegantly with her heavy greatsword, and occasionally, Asaara would call out another spell in Qunlat, and she would change tactics to suit her trainer. She wouldn't say she was a great mage by any means, as she preferred her sword, but she had gained enough control to keep the enemy guessing. 

She was pulling her sword out of a lightly armored archer when she heard someone in the din call, "Bas Saarebas!"

Spinning on her heel, she watched as a woman in dark robes sliced a dagger across her palm, red mist swirling from the cut. Blood mage. Maleficar, as the bas called them. Where a blood mage was, demons were sure to follow. Maraas took a deep breath and summoned a great ball of fire, hurling it at the Maleficar, but it fizzled out before it reached its mark- some sort of barrier. Asaara called out in fear, but it was too late, the Maleficar turned on Maraas with a wicken grin. She raised her staff, and Maraas felt the instant sting of a mana drain. Exhaustion washed over her and pins and needles started up her arms and legs. She cried out, clamping her eyes shut against the pain, but within moments it was gone. She glanced up in confusion, and realized the woman had found a new target.

Asaara's body was suspended above the ground, wreathing in agony as her face and hands withered. A life draining hex. Maraas assaulted the evil creature with all the mana she could pull, but it was too late. The soulless husk that had once been her teacher fell to the ground in a heap. She didn't think, she simply acted.

"Katara bas!" She called, rushing the mage with her greatsword. She heaved all her strength behind a swing that sliced through the Maleficar's belly. The woman had barely avoided being sliced in two, having danced away just in time. But the welling blood proved that the sword had indeed found its mark.

Badly wounded, the mage sprinted away before Maraas could finish her. She gave chase through the battle into the treeline. A rocky outcropping appeared through the thick trunks ahead, and the mage scrambled up its face, trailing blood as she did. Maraas wasted no time, sheathing her sword to climb up after her. At the top, a spell hit her square in the chest, and she nearly fell backward. Gasping, she pulled herself forward, clambering up over the edge.

"Hello, Saarebas," the woman said in a strange voice with two distinct tones overlaid. "Such a pretty thing with gleaming horns and untapped power."

Maraas growled loudly, summoning all of her energy for a spell that might destroy this  _thing_ before her, but it chuckled in an inhuman voice and Maraas felt her resolve crumble. 

"Ah, Maraas--nothing, alone. You don't have to be that way. Let me embrace you, and you can be something, Imekari." The words her teacher had used when they first met made her blink in confusion.

"Don't listen to it! Demons always lie!" Came Kaaras' voice from behind her as he came up onto the rocky ledge, sword already out and charged the foul creature. "Ebost Issala!"

Before Maraas could react, red mist rose to encompass Karaas, causing his hair to fall from his scalp in clumps, and his form to hunch over. She tasted the foul magic in the air and anger coursed her, causing flames to dance along her arms and curl into her palms. The heat built until her entire being became fire and she hurled herself at the maleficar, greatsword an extension of flames lashing out in an arc. She heard an inhuman shriek as the burning sword cut through the creature, and she pivoted to bring it back through from the other side. She did not think; she simply became the sword, became the fire. Strange words spilled from the mage's lips, but they broke off in shrill cries as the woman's figure before her burnt away. 

The sweet smell of charred flesh permeated the air, and Maraas slowly allowed her flames to die. For good measure, she brought her sword down into the blackened corpse and dropped to her knees, fatigue washing over her. She coughed on the thick smoke snaking around her, coming back to herself. Something crackled behind her, and she slowly turned to see something taking form behind her. 

"I shall have you," an eerie voice said, as the hazy shape became a grey horned creature of some sort, hands weaving in front of it's exposed, heavily breasted form.

Maraas dove out of the way, but knew it was futile. She waited for the attack to come, but instead, she heard a screech that assaulted her eardrums, and she clamped her hands to her ears. After a moment, she glanced back to see Kaaras, a pale imitation of himself, interlocked with the demon. His sword protruded from its back. The creature fizzled from existence and Kaaras fell forward weakly. Blood trickled from his mouth, nose, and eyes, and Maraas rushed to his side. She wracked her brain trying to recall a healing spell that would help.

"Kadan," he said with a sputtering cough that spattered more blood, reaching a trembling hand to her face. "Meraad itwasit, aban aqun." The tide rises, the tide falls. The sea is unchanged.

"No, Kadan!" She yelled hopelessly at her savior, lover, and dearest friend. But she forced herself to realize it was too late. He weighed heavily upon her, his life slipping away, and she leaned into his still form, willing him to return. "Do not leave me here!"

She lie curled against his still form for an hour before the rest of the Valo Kas found them, evidently victorious in their endeavors. Firm hands gripped her shoulders, and she numbly allowed them to pull her away. There was nothing she could do for Kaaras now except live as he had wanted her to when he took her from the Qun.

 

After her encounter with the demon and its great desire for her power, Maraas vowed to never use her magic again, keeping her bracelets on at all times. Even so, she proved to be a quite capable warrior and skilled tactician, rapidly rising to fame within the Valo Kas ranks. It was for this reason that she was chosen to lead a handful of other Valo Kas mercenaries to act as neutral protection at the conclave that the humans hoped would restore peace to a countryside ravaged by war between mages and templars. But as circumstance was proving in the Dragon Age, powerful forces lurked in every shadow to prevent peace from flourishing. 

 


	4. The Wrath of Heaven

_"You will guard them and they will hate you for it. Whenever there is not a Blight actively crawling over the surface, humanity will do its best to forget how much they need you. And that's good. We need to stand apart from them, even if they have to push us away to make us do it. That is the only way we can ever make the hard decisions."_

_-Kristoff, Commander of the Grey of Orlais (Blessed Age)_

 

21th Bloomingtide, 9:41 Dragon Age

Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine

 

The voices and migraines had started again, clawing Alistair from a deep sleep. He sat up, clutching his head and groaning through clenched teeth. A steady humming, a dark melody, thrummed through his nerves and he felt a stunning desire to claw his skin off. It was under his skin and ever present in the back of his mind of late, driving an old repressed yearning for strong drink. The Calling had started prematurely, it seemed, but it hadn't surprised him given his involvement in the most recent Blight. What gave Alistair pause was that all of the Wardens appeared to be experiencing it at once.

About 10 years ago, when he had joined the Grey Wardens, he had learned their dark secret. To gain the ability to defeat an Archdemon and resistance to the Blight sickness, they imbibed the very blood of the darkspawn. Those who survived the Joining became Grey Wardens, and under normal circumstances--that is, when the darkspawn weren't awakening an Archdemon--had roughly 30 years until the taint began ravaging their mind. And bodies. A sickly song would call them to the Deep Roads, where they would die with honor, taking as many of the plague bearing bastards with them as they could. Alistair had known only two other Wardens personally who had heard their Calling, but it had done little to prepare him for experiencing it himself.

Alistair had expected more physical symptoms--to appear more withered, perhaps. But as he strode to his dresser and looked into the mirror above it, he noticed nothing out the ordinary. He looked nothing less than a man in his 30s in prime form, if he dared say so. Age had barely begun to line his face in places and it lightly kissed his hairline with grey. It made him appear more distinguished, he thought. Other than his eyes, deeply lined by lack of sleep, he saw no traces of the disease ravaging him. By now, the voices and humming had subsided somewhat and he managed a wan smile at himself. He stared into his darkened reflection, visible only by the faint traces of light seeping through the window that heralded the coming dawn. His anxiety eased some at the prospect- when one dreamt regularly of the Deep Roads, the sun was a welcome sight. If this wasn't the Calling, then what in Andraste's holy name was happening?

A knock came from the door to his quarters, and at his acknowledgment, Nathaniel, his second in command entered the room. "Ah, Nathaniel. The second most handsome devil in this fortress," he quipped.

A smile quirked the man's lips, but barely touched his eyes which were as darkly ringed as his own. The man took in the state of room, cluttered by Alistair's many collected belongings, and he closed the door behind him. "Commander. I am sorry to, er, interrupt, but I have word."

Alistair began dressing, having worked and lived with the man for far too long to harbor any self consciousness in his presence. "Well, out with it. Has a bird returned from Weisshaupt?"

Nathaniel shifted nervously from one foot to the other, his eyes seeming to search the floor for the words to give his Warden Commander. "Well, you see, there is no bird. There is a man, a warden, who arrived two hours ago. His face looked afright and he said that he had word from Warden Commander Clarel."

"Why did no one wake me?" Alistair demanded, pulling his boots on as quickly as he could and tucking in his tunic.

"I... thought you needed your sleep," Nathaniel said hesitantly. "I instructed the man to bathe and fill his belly, then meet us in the Great Hall at dawn."

Alistair allowed Nathaniel some authority, as he trusted the man's judgment, at times better than his own. But as of late, he had begun to take on the role of nursemaid, and Alistair found it chafing. "Well, I'm up now. Shall we?"

The two wardens proceeded to the Great Hall of the Keep. The former Warden Commander, Stroud, had left Alistair in charge when he had followed his own Calling a year previously. Ten years ago, he would have shrank away from such a position of authority, but Alistair had returned from Kirkwall a changed man. The Wardens based in the fortress respected him, and he found himself at home here. _Queen_ Anora of Ferelden had protested greatly of course, and he had been forced to bend the knee and swear fealty to the pretentious shrew, but she had left him to lead the wardens of Amaranthine in peace thus far, and he had taken to the position like a well fitting pair of trousers. He wore it, as well as their latest griffon adorned armor, with dignity.

The others had arrived before them, and were milling about in the hall. The messenger stood in front of the throne that Alistair detested using and the aging seneshal stood at attention beside it. Opting to stand in front of the oversized chair, he bid the man before him to speak. "I have word from Weisshaupt, sir."

Alistair repressed the urge to groan at the obvious statement. "You have our ears."

"Warden Commander Clarel summons all Grey Wardens to Weisshaupt," he said succinctly.

Murmurs rose among the gathered wardens and Alistair sat back into his chair. "And what does the Warden Commander plan once we're all under one roof?"

"She... didn't say, ser. Only that we should make haste." The man glanced around nervously and cleared his throat. "There was... talk of a new ally. From Tevinter. And that he believes we should consolidate our numbers."

The whispers grew harsher, and the assembled wardens had begun shifting nervously. They didn't like this bit of information, and neither did Alistair. "From Tevinter you say? And has he... is he Joined?"

"I... don't think so," the man said doubtfully. "It's highly irregular, but it's what I heard. I can say no more."

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, worry twisting his gut. When he spoke, he did his best to hide his uncertainty. "Well, wardens. We have our orders. Make immediate preparations. We will depart by midday."

The keep sprang into action and surprised conversation. Alistair headed in the direction of his quarters, and he noted that Nathaniel had fallen into step beside him. "You feel it too?"

"Something... is not right. I should like to know who this ally is." Nathaniel said.

"I as well. Only one way to find out."

"There is... something else," Nathaniel said hesitantly. When Alistair stopped and quirked an eyebrow, Nathaniel led him to the closest room and shut them inside. "I have received a message. From an old friend."

"Someone I know?"

"No, sir. She left the order after the siege of Amaranthine. We suspected she had been the one to merge with Justice before we learned that not only had Anders survived the siege, but was responsible for the incident in Kirkwall."

The Chantry that exploded in the midst of a mage templar conflict in the city. The catalyst for the Mage-Templar war they were knee deep in. Anders had been the Grey Warden friend of Hawke's, and Alistair had thought the man to be rather insidious. He had merged with a Fade spirit known as Justice who had aided in the defense of Amaranthine following the Fifth Blight. How that differed from possession, he had no clue, but according to Nathaniel, Justice was no demon. He had known of one other such merger. Wynne, the spirit healer, who had traveled with him during the Blight. They had rescued her from her tower, ravaged by demons, and she had confessed to him to be carrying a spirit of Faith. She had died at the hand of the Hero of Fereldan, slain beside Leliana. She had been like a mother to him.

Shaking the unpleasant memories from his mind, he turned back to the matter at hand. "So, your friend?"

"Velanna." Nathaniel said her name with a reverance that brought a knowing smile to Alistair's face- and a small twinge of envy. "Her sister was among the intelligent darkspawn we encountered. I now know she followed her sister and the Architect into the Deep Roads. A message found its way to me, and it was in her hand, her words. She spoke of a cure. To the warden taint."

"And you trust this?"

Nathaniel met his eyes with an unshakable ferocity. "With all my heart."

Alistair sighed, studying the wall behind him. He knew the feeling, and knew there would be no convincing the man otherwise. "Alright. You have my permission to pursue this. I suspect you would go without it, however. Take Oghren, that drunken old dwarf could use a new adventure." He smiled, glad to have found one old friend from the days of the Blight. "I shall proceed to Weisshaupt and get a good look at our new ally."

Alistair led Nathaniel back to his quarters and rummaged in his things. Mostly trinkets from his travels, mementos such as Duncan's shield and pieces of armor that had belonged to his father and brother. He found two small stones and brought one to Nathaniel.

"An Elven stone?" Of course he knew what they were. Alistair thought he might. "Where did you get these?"

"Among the many gifts Warden Amell found before he died. One of the few I considered useful," Alistair said with a grimace. "Keep in contact, and I'll do the same."

The two wished one another well before briefly and awkwardly embracing. The two cleared their throats and Nathaniel slipped silently through the door. In these uncertain times, Alistair found himself praying silently for his friends. He had not necessarily turned his back on his faith when he left the Templars to join the order, but he had not considered himself devout. At least, not until Kirkwall. When everything changed. These days, he was finding his faith more and more. Prayers said and belongings packed, Alistair left to join the other wardens in their exodus of Ferelden. 

 

*************************************************

7th Kingsway, 9:41 Dragon Age

Haven Village, Chantry dungeon

 

Maraas woke with a start, a massive headache brewing and pain flowing through her which seemed to emanate from her left hand. A flash of green light illuminated the room, coupled with a fresh wave of agony that ripped a scream from her throat.

"Go find Cassandra and Leliana! The prisoner is waking!" A voice shouted in common. Her second shock came when she realized that neither her bracelets or her greatsword were on her person, and her wrists were shackled. White hot rage errupted inside her, bringing mana to the surface. An invisible grip squeezed her body, "choking" her energy and she cried, coughing and trembling.

"No need to be so forceful, templar," a man's voice came from nearby.

"Perhaps I should leave and let her burn you alive, mage," a second voice snapped back at him. "I'm not your enemy."

"Nor I yours. Allow me to speak with her."

"You were given permission to keep her alive, not question our prisoner."

Maraas found her voice to speak, though it was difficult. "And why am I kept prisoner? I am a member of the Valo Kas mercenary group. They will not let this go unanswered." Peering through the flickering torchlight beyond the cell she was in, she saw two figures. One was tall and armored, wearing a shining silver helmet. She could vaguely make out tattoos on his face.

The other, shorter and dressed more commonly, approached the cell. A face on a bald head with pointed elven ears became clear as he pressed against the bars, reaching a hand through. She realized that he was offering a cup. "Drink this. It will help," he said. She accepted the cup, but sniffed the contents suspiciously. "If I meant to kill you, I would have done so already. I wouldn't have wasted time saving you first."

She narrowed her eyes at the man, but drank nonetheless. It was some sort of herbal concoction, perhaps for the pain, but her parched throat was grateful for the soothing liquid. "You saved me? From what, and why?"

A door opened somewhere down the hall and footsteps approached. "Ah, a conversation for after the seeker has her way with you."

"You, apostate!" A woman's heavily accented gruff voice came from down the hall. Nevarran. Commanding authority. "Step away from the prisoner."

The man backed away with hands raised as two women entered her cell, both adorned with the eye over a sun symbol she had come to associate with the bas religious authority called the Chantry. One stayed back with her hood pulled up. She didn't appeared armed, but she had a dangerous air and eyes that missed nothing. The other had short cropped black hair, and she was well armored. A gleaming sword was strapped to her hip, and she tapped the hilt as she was let into the cell by the man in the helmet.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you," she said harshly with a snarl upon her face.

The woman bent so that her face was beside Maraas's ear where she sat, still sprawled on the hard stone floor. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except you."

Maraas's eyes flew wide and her stomach lurched. She recalled that she had been sent to a human peace gathering called a Conclave. Along with a contingent of other Valo Kas. But beyond the journey to the snow covered Frostback Mountains where the temple lay, she could remember nothing. She opted to cover her uncertainty with her own snarkiness amongst these strangers. "I suppose you didn't warrant an invitation, as you seem very much alive."

The woman pulled her hand up as if to strike her, but the other in the hood spoke up. "Cassandra."

With a groan and obvious effort, the woman, Cassandra, lowered her hand. "We were late in arriving. And fortunate for you, as our people saved you from the rubble."

"Technically I saved her," the bald elf, who had come to lean on the bars again said in a disinterested tone. "But it's no matter. We are all working to the same ends."

Cassandra glared over at him, saying, "That remains to be seen," before turning her ire back on the chained Qunari. She grabbed the hand that still throbbed and was emitting a strange pulsing green light. "Explain this."

"I... can't." Maraas stared at her own hand as if it were a strange creature. She couldn't fathom what sort of foul magic it was or what had caused it. "The last thing I remember is being assigned to your Conclave and promised a large sum of coin. Where are the other Valo Kas? Are they similarly detained?"

"You haven't been listening. They are dead. They are all dead, except for you."

Maraas's stomach flipped again and she felt as if she might vomit. It couldn't be true. "You're lying!"

"What reason would I have to lie?" The woman snarled.

Rage seared anew through the qunari, and once again the accompanied mana surge was choked by the invisible force. This time, she had half expected it, and it didn't hurt as bad. From the corner of her eye, she noted the other man, who had mostly remained silent had his hand outstretched. _A templar,_ she thought with disgust. Her people called these dogs of the Chantry " _Basvaarad_ ," a human who held the leash of mages. They possessed some sort of abilities that crushed magical sources, and Maraas didn't trust it. The rage within her eased, however, without the release of power to feed it, and was replaced by a helplessness. "All dead, and the Conclave destroyed. How did such a thing happen?"

Cassandra was pacing in frustration and her companion decided to approach. She could see red hair tucked neatly beneath the hood and penetrating grey eyes. Her voice had a musical tone and Orlesian accent when she spoke and she smelled of perfume. Roses. "What do you remember? Any detail could help us figure that out."

Maraas wanted to be angry, but the gentleness in the woman's tone drew an answer from her lips. "Beyond being assigned to the Conclave? Nothing. A... dream maybe."

Cassandra groaned again and her friend scowled at her before prodding further. "Can you tell me about this dream?"

Maraas thought carefully before responding. "I was being chased. By... strange creatures, I'm not sure. They looked like... Sarabaas... Qunari mages led by the Arvaraad." Chills ran along her spine, and she pulled her arms in to wrap about her middle, as best as the shackles would allow. "A woman, I think. She led me out of... a strange green door or something." She glanced down at her hand as she said the last, pondering its new hue.

"Holy Andraste, blessed be thy name," the Templar whispered.

"She is not--" Cassandra started, but was cut off by her companion. 

"This matches what my scouts reported."

"If you think that means... Leliana-"

"Show her, Cassandra. I'll be at the foreward camp," the hooded woman, Leliana, responded and exited the cell.

Cassandra attempted to look unruffled and started issuing orders. "Apostate, you will accompany us. Rylen--"

"If you have no further need of me, I should join the Commander." The templar turned on his heel and followed Leliana out without waiting for a response.

Cassandra groaned and undid the shackles from the stone floor. She helped Maraas to stand and the three followed suit at a slower pace. According to the elf, who introduced himself as Solas, she had been out for a few days with delirious fever. It showed in her gate, her long legs barely holding her weight. "I suppose I should thank you," Maraas told the elf.

"Thank me if we survive this," he told her with an amused look in his eye. "Seeker, your prisoner is indeed a mage, but I do not believe her to be capable of... the magics we are dealing with. She is powerful, yes, but her control is novice at best. It would take a highly skilled mage, and one in knowledge of ancient magics that we have not previously seen in this age."

Cassandra ignored the elf's observation, focus straight ahead as they made their way up through the chantry and to the great double doors that would lead outside. As she pushed them open, Maraas knew immediately that something wasn't right. The color outside was wrong, sickly even. As she stepped through, the light blinded her eyes and she pulled her still bound arms up to shield them. A great pulsing ball of light, the same color as her hand, hung in the sky and spewed lightning through the clouds surrounding it. Pain lanced through her arm from the mark as it flickered like a guttering candle in response and her stomach reeled.

"We call it the Breach. It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour," Cassandra explained, staring up at it. "It is not the only one, but it is the largest. All caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

"An... explosion caused this?"

"Yes. One of powerful magicks," Solas said. "You stepped out of one of these rifts."

Cassandra turned to face her then, eyes searching her face. "The scouts say a woman was behind you, but she was sealed inside the rift after you fell. Solas believes you possess the ability to close these rifts."

"You need me." It wasn't a question. Maraas knew they wouldn't let her go. But perhaps she could help, if the elf was to be believed.

The other woman's face softened a bit, and she turned to continue their march to the gates. "All of Thedas is impacted by these rifts. Demons pour from them, threatening its people and disrupting the natural world." Maraas took in the crowds of people who lined the path they were taking. Some were simply glaring, but others were jeering, throwing insults, and others still were throwing things at her. "They've already decided your guilt," Cassandra said, surveying the angry crowd.

Solas kept pace with Maraas in a pecular show of solidarity, narrowing his eyes. "In uncertain times, the humans will grasp for someone to blame."

"These people mourn the loss of the most holy Divine Justinia," Cassandra rebuked. "The Conclave was hers. She would have peace between the templars and the mages. Peace restored to Thedas." Sadness crept into the woman's voice as she spoke of their holy leader, who had evidently died at this Conclave.

Maraas recalled Kaaras telling her, so long ago, that he had begun to doubt the Qun. But she couldn't help but consider that something like this may never have happened under its guiding hand. All things were certain, everyone and everything had its place and purpose. The bas had their holy illusions, but they clearly hadn't saved them from this.

As they emerged from the gates surrounding the village, chaos immediately ensued. Soldiers and survivors were running and shouting. Wreckage from carriages and bodies littered the snow covered roadside. The smell of burning flesh permeated the crisp cold air. The Breach over head sparked suddenly, and Maraas's hand answered it. Pain tore through her, dropping her to her knees as she held the offending arm.

"It grows worse." Solas was kneeling beside her, a gentle hand on hers as she held her arm. "With every flare, it consumes more of you."

"What is it?" She asked, and the man shook his head in response. "Will it kill me?"

"I cannot say," he said, sadness coloring his features.

Maraas swallowed and glanced up at Cassandra. "If I help you, what will you do?"

The woman came to join them, sympathy in her eyes for the first time. "I will ensure there will be a proper trial. I can promise no more."

She studied Maraas's eyes and nodded, evidently approving of something she saw there. In a show of trust, she took the shackles from the qunari's gray wrists. Maraas withdrew her hands and rubbed them to soothe the ache. Solas reached out and took her wrists then. She flinched, but he held firmly. Warmth spread up her arms, replacing the pain with an almost euphoric sensation, drawing a sigh from her lips. "I'm gifted in healing magicks. This should hold it off for a while." She met his eyes then, and something passed over them she couldn't name. It reminded her of the day Kaaras had become her Arvaarad and subsequently freed her from her life in bonds.

"Come, let's reach the forward camp," Cassandra called from ahead of them, startling her and shattering the moment.

The elf and the qunari rushed to join the woman as she stepped onto a stone bridge over a frozen river. There were soldiers ahead on the other side, scurrying as green ember like sparks fell from the Breach. As the trio reached the middle, one such ember fell into the stone, shattering the bridge's foundation and sending them tumbling down to the ice below. Maraas winced as pain blossomed anew, and Solas shouted, "Look out!" With a raised hand he cast a sphere of shimmering blue energy around them as another green ember crashed through the ice a few feet away from them. A figure rose in the green blaze still lingering where it had made impact, and Maraas realized with horror that a demon had fallen from the sky. Two more landed to join the first and her companions poised themselves for combat. Solas let his barrier drop and ice flew from his staff, which he danced elegantly with. Cassandra drew her sword and ran to meet the one drawing nearest to them. Unsure of what she should do without a sword or proper weapon, Maraas remained behind Solas's legs as he cast various ice spells at the oncoming demons.

After a few moments, Maraas realized that the ice spells were doing little more than slowing the advancing creatures. With no templars near, she closed her eyes and searched inside herself for the power she knew she held. It was easy when she was angry, but she had not intentionally drawn upon her magic in years. She felt a pop as Solas once again cast his barrier around them, but she didn't think he could hold it for long. Fear crept into her chest, and with a start, she realized ice crystals had formed on her finger tips. Maraas's eyes flew open and she stretched out her hands as the ice bloomed up her arms. Solas's face appeared beside hers and she felt the warmth radiating from him.

"We can do this together, but we'll only have one chance. Ready?" She nodded and he dropped his barrier. In the same instant, the two of them released an icy blast that blew the demons back across the frozen river. Cassandra landed a killing blow on the one she had been facing, and danced around to engage the one who bounced back first.

Spying a greatsword lying on the ice not far from where she still kneeled with Solas, Maraas leapt to her feet and sprinted toward it. She snagged it mid stride and whirled to slice the last demon in two as it crept upon Cassandra from behind. The dark rags of its form disintegrated into nothing, and she stood blinking at the empty air as the human woman spun to face her, her own sword still raised.

They stood that way for a moment, staring each other down before Cassandra lowered her sword first. "I... Thank you."

Maraas dipped her head in acknowledgment and turned to retrieve the sheath for her new sword. As she finished tying it in place, she realized Solas was studying her with an intensity that made her blush.

"Curious," he said finally. "You seem to be quite an adept mage, despite a lack of proper control. And you prefer a physical weapon."

"Valo Kas trains all their mercenaries in weaponry," she said dismissively. Solas hummed, unconvinced, but left it alone.

The three of them found a path to scrabble back up the bank and continued to the forward camp. Up the snowy mountain they climbed, encountering a few more demons on the way. The sounds of a skirmish reached their ears and they broke into a run. They crested a hill over the rubble of what had once been stone stairs, and on the other side in the wreckage of a stone building was a small green rift. Below it, a struggle ensued between the bas forces and Fade demons. To the side, a dwarf with a fancy crossbow was providing cover fire. They wasted no time joining the fray. Cassandra swung with her sword and bashed with her shield; Solas was doing a graceful dance with his staff. Maraas swung wide with her greatsword to take two out at a time, and managed to call up a ball of flame to throw at a third.

When the last one fell, a hand gripped Maraas's wrist, and she jumped as Solas held it up toward the rift. She felt something pulling through her arm, as if a snake slithered beneath the skin. Instinctively, she tried to pull her hand back, but Solas held tight. A green curl of energy rose from her outstretched palm as the rift responded in kind to meet it. Her hand vibrated as the torrents merged and for a moment, pulled in both directions. The rift shrank in upon itself, winking from existence, and the magicks anchored in her hand snapped back with such a force that she would have fell if Solas were not there to steady her. Their eyes met, her violet ones and his blue, and she marveled at the world that existed in those icy orbs. Mysteries upon mysteries--who was this elf?

A cleared throat drew her attention to the dwarf with the crossbow. Long reddish blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, chiseled features, swoon worthy chest hair peaking through the deep vee of his embroidered tunic, and crossbow resting casually on his shoulder. She almost laughed at the sight--he was a miniature version of the men who graced the covers of the trashy novels Asaara used to read. "Our heroine arrives just in time. Here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever," the dwarf said, drawing what Maraas had come to consider customary annoyance from Cassandra. "Name's Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along." The last he said with an amused glint in Cassandra's direction.

"The Varric Tethras?" Maraas asked with eyebrows raised in amazement. Solas laughed as Cassandra let out a long suffering groan.

The dwarf gave her a winning smile, showing all of his teeth. "My reputation proceeds me."

Maraas felt embarrassed suddenly. "My... teacher used to read your novels."

"I get that one a lot too."

"Don't encourage him," Cassandra warned.

"Seeker, you wound me," Varric said with mock insult, and Maraas wondered at the history. "You see, I'm a prisoner here, much like yourself."

"I brought you to tell your story to the Divine. It would seem that is no longer necessary," she retorted.

"And yet, here I am. Lucky for you." He noticed Maraas eying the crossbow he had slung onto his back. "I see you're already getting to know Bianca."

Maraas blinked. "Bianca?"

He patted the stock. "She's one of a kind and we've been through a lot together. She'll be great company down in the valley."

Cassandra began arguing with Varric, seemingly not desiring his company, but he wouldn't have it. As they bickered, Maraas became aware that Solas was still watching her with great interest. "You seem to know a great deal about what we are up against," she said to cover her nervousness.

"I offer merely theory and conjecture. But often I find I am correct."

"That wasn't an answer."

"I don't believe you asked a question," he stated with a coy smirk.

"Fine!" Cassandra growled, throwing her hands into the air, evidently losing the argument with the dwarf. "Shall we proceed to the forward camp?"

As they resumed their hike up the mountain, Varric fell into step beside her. "So, are you innocent?"

"I thought I was the heroine. Doesn't that make me innocent?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Depends on the story."

"Truth is, I don't remember."

"Ah, that'll get you every time. Should have spun a tale."

"That's what you would have done. Don't influence our... rift sealer," Cassandra called over her shoulder.

"Certainly an improvement on prisoner," Solas said. "But then, you have proven to hold the key to our salvation." Mara flushed.

They faced more demons and another rift before they reached the camp. This time Maraas knew what to do and expected the force that pulled and pushed, barely catching herself as it closed. Cassandra pushed open the gate. Soldiers and supplies lined the walkway, and at the back sat a table with two humans framing it on either side. One was the woman from earlier, Leliana, and she was arguing with a man in the more recognizable uniform of a Chantry official. The man was taking a haughty tone, trying to convey the air that he was in charge, but Leliana was gracefully correcting him as to whose station was higher.

"So no one is in charge here?" Two sets of angry eyes turned upon Maraas and she immediately regret speaking.

"Why isn't this prisoner restrained?" The angry man demanded.

"This prisoner has been sealing rifts and killing demons all the way up this mountain!" Cassandra joined the argument, and Maraas gleaned that she and Leliana were considered to be what they called the Right and Left hands of the Divine. They appeared to be similar to what the Qun called Ben Hassrath--enforcers and spies.

"While you three are having your pissing match, the Breach is still hailing demons on our asses," Varric interrupted. "And this lovely young woman beside me happens to know what to do about it."

"So let's ask her, then," Cassandra suggested. "How shall we proceed?"

"Now you're asking me?" She said, bemused.

"As Solas said," Cassandra replied. "You hold the key to our salvation."

They had two options open to them at this point: go through the mountain pass and attempt to find missing scouts on their way to the Breach, or proceed directly to the valley. Maraas's mind spun as she tried to think as the tactician the Valo Kas considered her to be. The direct approach would be smarter, but would it be right to leave good men to die?

"The mountain pass," she finally said, causing mixed reactions in the group. "Let's bring as many men through this as we can."

 

***************************************

 

The mountain pass proved to be the most dangerous, but also the most positive choice, as they were able to locate most of the scouts and proceed together into the valley. Ruins, demons, and charred corpses littered the epicenter of the catastrophe, marking the location where a holy temple once stood. They eased their way down the ash covered slopes and noticed red shards protruding from the ground in various places.

"Red lyrium, Seeker. No one touch it," Varric cautioned. Maraas knew lyrium was the basis of the potions that replenished her mana pool, but she knew little else about it. She had certainly never heard of it coming in red. Judging by the fear in this otherwise confident dwarf's voice, she did not want to find out.

As they neared the bottom, voices started coming from the Breach. Her voice, to be specific, along with a raspy male voice and a woman's who Cassandra identified as the Divine. "I don't know what this is. This isn't me," Maraas said with wide eyes.

"It sure as hell looks like you," Varric said. "And it looks like you were trying to save the Divine when the blast happened."

Cassandra stared hard at Maraas, expression unreadable. "Most Holy called out... You.. came to her aid?"

Maraas just stared at the scene unfolding in the green miasma, panic threatening to choke off her oxygen. A hand gripped her shoulder and she realized ice was forming on her hands again. Solas gave a gentle squeeze, and she reigned in the mana as best she could. They continued their trek and finally reached the bottom. Solas indicated a sizable rift directly below the main breach, which pulsated wildly, as if sensing her presence--or the presence of its ilk inside her hand. "This one was the first to form. I believe it is the key. It is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily."

Maraas raised her hand to study it, flexing her fingers open and shut experimentally as the green energy coiled around it, responding to the rift. "You believe I can open it?"

"Yes," he replied, face serious. "Open it, and seal it properly. However, opening it will draw attention from the other side. Stand ready."

With Solas's instruction, Maraas reached out for the rift, feeling the energy tentatively link with that in her hand. Slowly, she opened her fist, stretching her fingers outward as the currents pulled in both directions. With an audible snap, it flared to life, releasing her in the process so that she stumbled backward. She heard a thunderous growl and a massive horned creature emerged from the green and landed before them. Lightning sparked all around it. Leliana signaled and archers overheard hailed arrows upon the creature as Cassandra and the others around her attacked. Maraas hesitated briefly before charging at it with her greatsword, hacking at its trunk like legs as best she could. Lightning licked around her torso, rattling her bones and she cried out. Solas was at her side in an instant, throwing up a barrier.

"Call forth your mana!" He yelled to be heard over the chaos. "Do you know any spirit spells?" Maraas blinked and Solas closed his eyes in frustration. "Pride demons are resistant to lightning, and indeed most types of magic. Approach from behind, swing your sword and repeat. When you have a window, reach for the rift. Can you manage?"

She nodded weakly and Solas let go of the barrier, lashing out with a spell she imagined must be classified as spirit. She did as she was instructed until Solas called out to her again with further instruction. "Manipulate the rift! Now!" She reached out, stretching into the now familiar tugging until she felt a snap. It didn't seal, but the demon had dropped to its knees and Solas seemed pleased. Her companions assaulted the beast with everything they had until it stood again, lashing out with more lightning. She resumed her hack and dance away pattern until Solas again called to her. She repeated the pattern several more times.

Once again she reached for the rift, the backlash of energy making the demon howl. This time it didn't take much to reduce it to a rapidly fading ball of lightning. With the demon slain, she reached out to the rift again, connecting. The current was much stronger, and she cried out in agony. She felt the snap as it sealed, and she managed to take two startled steps back before the world around her went black.


	5. The Inquisition/The Admiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maraas joins the Inquisition. Alistair reunites with some old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my chapters are being posted so spaced apart! In the process of moving with a small child, so I'm not sure when I'll get another chance to post. It is coming though, I promise!

_Maraas was running. Trees bend at strange angles and shadows that don't stretch correctly in response to the light sprouts_ _ahead of her and behind. Mist curls in every direction. She risks a glance back at her pursuers as a masked Sarabaas lifts its hands to hurl sparks in her direction. She turns a corner around a crumbled stone wall and stops to catch her breath. Back against the wall, she leans around it to peer behind._

_Silent empty hills. Dead trees and mist. All is still. She lets out a sigh and pulls back around the wall, eyes closed._

_She opens her eyes and screams as she comes face to face with the Sarabaas's sharp metal mask, distant eyes peering at her through slits. She can hear its breathing inside the mask, an animal's raspy pant. With a trembling hand she reaches up and slowly lifts the mask, taking in the sewn lips parted half an inch, through which its breath stutters in and out. She pulls it the rest of the way off with trembling hands and her hand flies to her mouth at the sight._

_Blonde hair matted against its skull, violet eyes dulled... a sickly reflection of herself. She stares at the macabre doppelganger, shaking her head and backing away slowly. Green light sparks into being and snakes out toward her, grabbing hold and reeling her down through the sewn, parted Sarabaas's lips._

_Falling. Blackness all around, punctuated by green lightning... pushing and pulling, burning and freezing..._

_A wolf appears with ice blue eyes... as she watches,  he becomes a bald elf with a fearful expression. "Wake up, Maraas!"_

 

Maraas flew upright in sea of fur blankets. A small elf started and tripped, dropping a tray. She began crawling backward in panic, stuttering apologies.

Maraas blinked at her wearily. "Where am I?"

"I-in Haven," came her meek response.

Maraas was lying in a bed in a room much nicer than the dungeon where she had previously slept. A curious prison to be sure. "What happened to the Breach? The demon?"

"D-dead. The demon that is. The Breach... it's still there. The Hands of the Divine will want to know you're awake."

The scared young woman leapt to her feet and raced out the door, not bothering to ensure it was closed. Cold air wisped through and tickled Maraas's exposed face. She studied the sliver of light it allowed from where she sat on the most comfortable bed she had ever rested upon. It was a peculiar prison to say the least. There were windows on either side from which sunlight pooled on the floor warmly, and she resisted the urge to leap down and bask in it. She knew it wasn't nearly as warm as her mind was telling her.

The tray that was left by the eld contained a pot that smelled of herbs and a covered platter that smelled of rich, sweet meats. She ignored it, despite the rumbling in her belly and focused on the task at hand. With a heavy sigh, she swung her stiff legs off the bed and realized with a start that someone had outfitted her in tunic and breaches of soft leather. Standing, she smoothed her hands along the material, marveling at the make and fit. A long cloak hung on a hook near the door and a large pair of boots were placed beside the bed. Slipping them on, she noted that they were slightly snug, but would suffice so that she could find Cassandra and determine what would happen to her now. If she hadn't managed to seal the Breach, her usefulness was surely rapidly declining.

As she emerged from the hut, soldiers and villagers alike scuttled to the side to stand at attention as she passed. She blinked against the sunlight that was still stained slightly with green. She paused momentarily, expecting someone to reprimand her for emerging, but none did. Some, she noted, had even taken off their hats and helms or were otherwise postured in respectful stances. She glanced around to see if some important bas was about, but seeing no one, continued on her quest to find answers.

"Excuse me," she managed to sound firm despite the nerves wracking her empty stomach, turning to one of the soldiers nearby. "Could you tell me where Cassandra is?"

The man looked pale, but cleared his throat to answer, "The Hands of the Divine are in the Chantry, sera."

His formality startled her, but she thanked him and made her way up the snow swept stairs toward the great imposing building. People darted out of her path as she walked and a crowd was gathering behind her. As she entered through the large wooden doors, she heard the sounds of applause, and turned to gape in confusion at the fanfare before sealing herself inside. A woman directed her to a door at the back of the Chantry, and she hesitantly pushed it open to see a cluster of people inside arguing. The angry man from the forward camp was there, yelling at Cassandra and Leliana indignantly, and there were others she had not yet met. When they noticed her presence, the entire room fell silent.

The angry Chantry man spoke first. "You have some nerve--"

"You will restrain yourself, chancellor. She has more right to be here than you," Cassandra snarled at the man.

"I beg your pardon, I am a trusted advisor and I speak for the Most Holy. You are nothing but an over dressed thug!"

"You will address us by our titles, little man. We are the Hands of the Divine, most trusted by her Most Holy Divine Justinia!" She retorted.

"And all we have is your word on this!"

"Then explain this!" Leliana slammed a thick, ancient text down on the massive table, pointing emphatically at the Chantry symbol adorning the cover. "The Divine granted us the authority to proclaim the Inquisition reborn."

The man paled, evidently swayed by whatever the book symbolized. "But what of the prisoner? What does this have to do with her?"

A tall, blonde man in armor and fur coat who had been silent until now approached the man, hand thrumming on the hilt of his sword. "I was on that mountain, chancellor. I heard the Divine calling out to her. And she stopped that Breach from growing larger. She saved our lives."

Cassandra placed her hand on the man's shoulder and he stepped back a pace so Cassandra could go toe to toe with the chancellor. "The Maker sent her to us in our time of need. With this woman's help, we will close this Breach, find the party responsible and bring them to justice. The Inquisition will restore order."

"Am I one of your suspects then?" The man demanded in an injured tone.

"You and many others," Leliana replied.

The man sputtered vague threats and turned on his heel, scowling at Maraas on the way out. She watched him pass, resisting the urge to scratch her horns in a nervous gesture. Turning to the remaining humans with narrowed eyes, she said, "You think your 'Maker' sent me? I'm a Tal Vashoth mercenary. I was sent here by the Valo Kas."

Cassandra looked annoyed as she studied Maraas. "That may have been who you were before you came to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But now you play a grander part in this."

"The people if Haven are calling you the Herald of Andraste," the blonde man said with a charming smile. Something about the quirk of his lips tugged at something low in Maraas's abdomen. He was attractive for a bas, and it had been a long time since she had made such an assessment. Mistaking her reaction for wariness, he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Forgive me, I am the Commander of the Inquisition forces, Cullen Rutherford." He bowed slightly as he introduced himself.

Maraas gulped as he glanced up at her through his eyelashes. Unsure of herself, she mirrored the gesture. "I am Maraas."

"We know who you are, my lady," a woman's voice said in awe. "And I am Josephine Montilyet, ambassador for our cause." If the man had been charming, this woman oozed grace and radiance. Her mocha colored skin and accent placed her as Antivan high born. The term ambassador, Maraas mused, was one associated with diplomacy and politics. Something Maraas knew enough about to not offend clients, but now she felt herself at quite a disadvantage.

"All very impressive titles," Maraas said by way of greeting. "But what exactly is a 'Herald of Andraste' and what interest do I have in a holy war?"

Her new companions spent the better part of the afternoon explaining to her the function of the Inquisition. The bas here, it seemed, had decided Maraas was the Will of their Maker and his bride, Andraste, breathed into flesh. That was the explanation they were running with for the mark on her hand and how she managed to seal the rifts. Their meeting continued as Maraas's stomach growled, and the lady Josephine called for a break long enough to instruct servants to bring in platters containing an array of foods. Dishes were laid out on the massive wooden table and chairs were placed so the group could dine as they finished their discussion on how the Inquisition would proceed.

Maraas fell upon her bowl of meaty stew and assortment of cheeses and breads with a barely restrained enthusiasm that would have earned a scolding when she was a child. The lady Josephine simply hid a giggle behind a delicate hand, and the Commander smiled at her with an amusement that made her blush.

Leliana nodded with a smile as she watched her finish eating. "A chantry mother in the Hinterlands, Mother Giselle, would be the most amenable to our cause. From there, we might have the standing we need to lean on the rest of the scattered Chantry clerics."

Maraas pushed her bowl away and considered what she said. "Would she listen to a... heretic Qunari? And in the meantime, could we be attacked?"

"Mother Giselle will see reason," Leliana said simply, dabbing at her face with a napkin delicately.

"As for the Chantry," Cullen added around a last bite of stew. "Without their Templars, they are armed with words alone."

Maraas's brows knitted together as she contemplated her options. With a hole in the sky spewing demons, she had damned few. "Alright," she said finally. "Let us see this Inquisition of yours in practice. I will speak to this Mother Giselle."

*****************************

 

Alistair stared broodingly out into the dark waters of the Waking Sea. The churning surf not dissimilar to the effect the rocking of the ship was having upon his stomach. The sky above was overcast, but calm, proving a smooth voyage thus far. But to the South, the heavens glowed an eerie unnatural green. An ever present reminder that things were far from alright.

"Careful, or your face might stay that way." Admiral Isabella said strutting into view. She leaned backward against the bow of the ship provocatively, angling her ample bosom outward as she did.

Alistair gave her curved and scantily dressed silhouette a cursory glance and gave a harumph that could have been a laugh. "It would have already if that were the case." He flashed her a genuine smile. "I truly appreciate you coming to my aid once again. I suppose it's become a bad habit by now."

Isabela laughed, leaning closer so Alistair could smell her cloyingly spiced fragrance and feel her warm breath on his cheek. "What could be better than having such a strapping young prince in one's debt."

Alistair resisted the urge to take a step back, but also refused to get stuck in this particular spider's web. "I am not a prince. I gave that up a long time ago. And I am most certainly not young. Strapping, however, I'll accept."

Isabela rolled her eyes and slid her hands onto his shoulders. "Perhaps we take this below deck, and we'll see how princely you can be."

"Oh, I just might retch," a gravelly voice interjected.

Alistair turned to face the small stone golem, relief on his face evident. Shale towered over him where she came to stand nearby, and he took comfort in her presence. She had scarcely left his side since he had found her at Weishaupt. It seemed the Grey Wardens had "conscripted" her, and Alistair had been happy to liberate her in his escape after their discussions had gone south. United once again by common cause, they had been together when the sky was torn asunder.

The stone creature, who had once been a dwarf, now stood staring disapprovingly with the billowing sails of Isabela's ship providing her a dramatic backdrop, and Alistair couldn't help but smile warmly. His promiscuous friend changed tactics and turned her temptress eyes on the golem.

"Unfortunately, His Highness yet evades me. A most cunning prey. But you, my chiseled friend, you could be some fun."

"Lie with its squishy flesh? I should think not."

"Suit yourself," the Admiral said, sauntering away, and Alistair spared an appreciative glance at her swaying rump before resuming his contemplation of the sea.

"Is It sure these Hawkes, who are not the foul demons of the sky, will assist us? If It is friends with that-" Shale indicated the direction Isabela had retreated in. "I find myself unconvinced."

"Oh, Hawke will help us. He doesn't know how to stay out of the thick on things." Alistair removed a water skin from his shirt and took a generous drink. "But more importantly, I want to ensure his sister hasn't gone traipsing off to the Deep Roads, or been taken by corrupted Wardens."

A shout from one of Isabela's men told them that they were nearing land. Isabella had promised to get them close, but didn't dare make port where the powers that be could question her purpose or cargo. Shale and Alistair headed for the row boat that was already being made ready for them. A gentle hand on his shoulder had him turning to see Isabela carrying a bag and a worried expression.

"Some extra supplies. Varric told me Hawke would meet you in Ostwick. The Crimson Mare tavern." She gave him the name his room would be under and studied Alistair for a moment before adding, "And give this message to my oldest and dearest of friends." She grabbed his shoulders and seized his lips with her own.

Alistair's hands flew up in mild protest, but he otherwise didn't stop her as her mouth crushed into his, her tongue exploring its depths. He tried to ignore the building pressure in his trousers and the disappointment he felt when she broke the kiss. "Well, I could," he said when he could speak. "But it may not have quite the same effect."

She pushed him playfully and he stepped into the boat with his stoney companion. As the boat was lowered into the water, she called, "Take care of yourself, my bastard prince. You and Hawke. I won't be there this time to save your asses."

He laughed and waved to her before he began rowing the boat toward the shore.


	6. The Champion of Kirkwall

3rd Harvestmere, 9:41 Dragon Age

Haven

 

Maraas returned from Val Royeaux disheartened. The Chantry Mother in the Hinterlands had urged her to go and speak with the remaining clerics, to appeal to their better natures. Unfortunately, they had arrived to find a tarnished fragment of the great Chantry that had been warring her people for ages. What was worse, the Templars had arrived simply to spit in the eyes of both the Chantry and the Inquisition. The entire display had further disheartened the people who had looked on in terror. The very people the Inquisition had formed to protect. 

The trip had not been a complete waste, however. They had been contacted by the rebel mages, for one, offering a possible avenue to closing the Breach. She had also forged a couple notable connections with merchants, and acquired two new allies--neither of which yet inspired much hope, but Maraas was determined to be optimistic.

One such ally was an elf with considerable archery skill and a penchant for ruffling the feathers of noble houses, belonging to a enigmatic group known simply as the Friends of Red Jenny. The girl had not been very forthcoming on details, or at least not clear in her explanation--in fact, not clear in much of her words at all. But she had brought to light some minor lord who was conspiring against the Inquisition, and so proven herself relatively useful. And Maraas found her an intriguing puzzle, to be sure. The other was the former First Enchantress, Vivienne, or as the court referred to her affectionately, Madame de Fleur, mistress of Duke Bastion. None of this meant anything to Maraas, but seemed to hold some import to Cassandra, and so she had recruited the imposing and intimidating enchantress as well.

She passed through the village where the people of Haven were scurrying to get in the last of the late season crops before they all froze in the ground. The smell of stew simmering drifted from the tavern and made her stomach growl. Hoping they could conclude business quickly so she could get to it, she entered the Haven Chantry with Cassandra in tow. Leliana and Josephine immediately fell into step on either side of them and Cullen emerged from a side room. They met them in the middle of the grand assembly hall wearing weary expressions.

"It's a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital," the commander said by way of greeting.

Naturally, word had reached Leliana before they returned. "I'll admit, I was leaning more toward Templar assistance myself," Maraas said, chewing her lip. "The former Grand Enchanter seemed willing to help, however."

"I don't like it," Cullen said. "Where has she been hiding all this time, and why? She was supposed to be at the Conclave."

"And yet, the Lord Seeker survives as well," Leliana retorted. "We know he has taken the Order somewhere... but to do what? My reports have been... odd, to say the least."

"We must look into it," Cullen said, and an argument ensued regarding which faction they should approach.

"Fighting amongst ourselves solves nothing," Maraas said simply, quieting them, her hunger wearing her patience thin.

Cassandra nodded at her approvingly. "I say, we make no moves until we have more information."

"What we need is more clout," Josephine offered. "We should offer help where we can, and increase our influence."

"Agreed," Maraas said, and the group exchanged nods before going separate ways.

As Maraas turned to find her way to the baths so she could wash before she ate, she realized Leliana was following. She slowed to match her pace. "There's one more thing," the woman said as they reached the great doors. "Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Fereldan vanished. As did the ones in Orlais."

Maraas paused midstride. All she knew of the Grey Wardens were the widely spread tales of their heroism against the Blight and their secrecy. And griffons. "The timing is... certainly odd."

The slighter woman nodded. "I've been looking into it. Discreetly. I was most intrigued to hear that Warden Loghain-" She said the name with a certain measure of contempt- "veteran of the Fifth Blight, remains in Denerim as advisor to the Queen. His daughter. Since the disappearance of the other wardens, he has scarcely been seen outside his quarters, and there are rumors of ill temper and... madness. Though from what I recall of the man, he was verging on such temperament already. Ever taken by 'Orlesian paranoia.'" She spared a wry smile, and Maraas recalled sympathetically that she had been involved in the Blight herself. "Then two days ago, my scouts in the Hinterlands reported the presence of a Warden named Blackwall. He seems to be traveling alone in the countryside. And more easily approached than Warden Loghain."

"I'll look into it," she replied, continuing through the door. "Solas suggested I look into some... elven devices there to strengthen the Veil anyway."

"Excuse me!" A voice called as they exited, and they stopped to see a young man in armor flagging them down. "I have a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me."

Maraas glanced at Leliana, who smiled in encouragement and ducked away in her usual mysterious fashion. Ignoring the demands of her empty stomach, she addressed the man reluctantly. "I... I'll hear your message."

The young man smiled charmingly, trying to size her up without being obvious about it. "The Chief is gonna love this," he said in an amused tone. Maraas raised an eyebrow and he cleared his throat, starting again in a voice that had her wondering if her assessment of the soldier being a young man was incorrect. "Cremissius Aclassi, with the Bull's Chargers mercenary company."

The Qunari's brows raised. The familiarity of a fellow merc after all of the Chantry bas was almost a relief. "Maraas Adaar, formerly of the Valo Kas. What can the Inquisition do for you?"

He smiled approvingly. "We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering on the Storm Coast. My commander Iron Bull offers this information free of charge by way of an invitation to see us in action. If you'd like to see what the Bull's chargers can do, meet us there."

Naturally, she had heard of the Bull's chargers and the Inquisition could certainly use more numbers. But the Charger's approaching them was surprising. "I've heard good things about your company. But why offer your services to a heretical movement?"

"My commander has heard of the work you're doing, and he wants in," Cremissius replied.

Maraas nodded. She certainly hoped this Iron Bull wasn't another religious sort wanting a closer look at the 'Herald.' She'd had enough of that already. "Well, Cremissius-"

"Krem is fine," the young merc said with a flirtatious grin.

"Krem," she corrected, feeling self-conscious suddenly. "I look forward to seeing the Bull's Chargers in action."

Krem shot her another appreciative glance before jogging in the direction of the gate, task fulfilled. Maraas shook her head and, glancing around for anyone else with more work for her, opted to head straight for the tavern, not caring how she smelled.

 

**************************************

The Crimson Mare Ostwick, the Free Marches

 

Alistair hesitantly pushed inside the tavern, and almost wretched when he was greeted by the all too familiar scent of stale ale and vomit. Holding his breath, he discreetly scanned the crowd for potential danger. The patrons glanced at him curiously, and he wondered if his hooded cloak was more obvious than he'd hoped. The middle aged man at the bar eyed him warily as he sidled up to the counter.

"Donnen Brennokovic," he told the man who told him which room and he slipped between curious patrons to find it. He knocked once, and then twice, and after a moment, he heard the lock click. Gripping his sword hilt, he let himself inside.

The room was empty, only a lit candle on the small table, a polished bow leaning against the wall, and a cloak and satchel on the threadbare blanketed bed indicating someone had been inside. Frowning, he counted to five and heard the door latch shut.

"So predictable," he said in a bored tone.

A short laugh answerred from behind him. "I guess the first couple times hearing your girlish squeal should suffice."

Alistair turned around in time to see the man with long black hair and scraggly beard slipping his dagger back into it's sheath. He had a new streak of grey gracing his dark hair. "Hawke," he greeted warmly, noting the dark circles under the man's eyes.

A genuine smile lit Hawke's unusually pale features, and the two embraced. "Alistair."

The Warden Commander pulled back first with a reproving look. "The name of Varric's most notable protagonist? Was that wise?"

Hawke let out a short bark of laughter, and the look in his eye turned devious. "This inn is frequented by many seeking... extramarital pastimes."

"Oh," Alistair said with a quirked eyebrow, and then realization dawned on him, causing him to flush. "Ohhhh..."

Hawke laughed again, clapping him on the back. "Better than the truth, right?"

Alistair shook his head, making his way to the worn chair on the other side of the room. "Right, well... How... How are things?"

"Bethany is fine," the other man said, answerring the unspoken question. He sat on the bed, and busied his hands sharpening his dagger. "Not in the Deep Roads nor Weisshaupt, thanks to your timely letter. I got word to Fenris, and... everyone is safe."

Alistair read between the lines, and knew better than to ask more questions. "Good. Good. And how's Merrill?"

"Helping the alienage elves. Cullen arranged a full pardon for whatever her part in Kirkwall," he said dismissively. "He said that he'd also extend the courtesy to me, if..." He trailed off, looking distant.

"You have to know that's the right thing, Hawke," Alistair said meaningfully. "Not just for the Chantry or Kirkwall. But for yourself, for Merrill. For Varric."

Hawke stiffened at the last. "I know. But... they're all _my_ merry band of misfits, you know? Every one. I can't just... You have to understand."

Alistair met his eyes and let his breath out slowly. He thought of his own misfits, of perpetually drunk Oghren, of Sten who they had taken from a prisoner's cage, and it brought a wan smile to his lips. "I understand. I do."

"Yes, well..." Hawke pushed the thoughts aside with obvious effort. "Tell me more about this situation the Wardens have gotten themselves into- what my sister is now affected by. You owe me a little more than your vague letter."

Alistair began explaining his unfortunate trip to Weisshaupt. The First Warden Commander had gone mad in her obsession with ending the Blight had turned to a Tevinter ally. They had resorted to blood magic. To demons. An all too familiar scenario for Alistair.

The conversation was cut short by a commotion in the inn proper. He and Hawke exchanged a look before the latter slipped out the door to see what was happening. Alistair held his breath, counting the seconds until his friend let himself back in, silent as a shadow and pale as a sheet. "We've got company," he said, sliding the bolt in the door home. "Friends of yours, by the looks if them. Grey Wardens."

Alistair swore. "Blast, I thought I'd have more time."

"Well," Hawke said, gathering his minimal gear in one scoop of his hand. "No time like the present. Out the rear exit, then?" Hawke snuffed the candle, and peered out the window. He pushed it open and poised himself on the sill. "A bit of a drop to the road, but I've had worse landings. They haven't sent a man around back yet, but let's hurry before they realize their mistake, shall we?"

With that, he leaped from the window, and Alistair leaned out in time to see him make a rolling impact in the dirt alleyway. He came to a stand in the shadows of a neighboring building and signaled for Alistair to follow. Bracing himself, he said a silent prayer and followed suit.

His landing was not as graceful as Hawke's, and the metal of the armor under his cloak made a _clang_! Pain shot through his knee, and he sucked air through his teeth, forcing himself to stand and follow Hawke who looked nonplussed. They were just disappearing around the other building when they heard shouts behind them. Alistair did his best to keep up with Hawke, gritting his teeth as his knee throbbed with every step. They weaved through alleyways this way and that, around dark buildings, and once heard a feminine scream as they rushed past an open window. Alistair missed what the commotion was about, but the lascivious grin Hawke shot over his shoulder said he hadn't. They brushed past a sour smelling man shuffling in the dark who cursed after them with his fist in the air and Hawke uttered a hasty apology over his shoulder.

They didn't slow until they were outside of town, and even then, Hawke took them up a hill through the brush and trees. Alistair's whole leg was screaming in agony at this point, but he had little choice but to follow uphill until they reached the edge of a clearing that overlooked the village of Ostwick. They stood in the night cloaked treeline, listening to the sounds of insects and night birds for several moments before Hawke breathed out a sigh of relief, evidently determining they had lost pursuit.

"You really know how to stir the beehive, my friend," he said to the Warden in a low voice, amusement evident.

"What can I say? It's a gift," Alistair said breathlessly, sliding down a tree trunk to sit at its base. "Say, you don't have any-"

"Of course," Hawke said with a silent chuckle, rummaging through his pack for medical supplies and then he went to work on Alistair's knee. "Can you walk?" He asked when he was done.

"Should be able to. My camp is not far. If nothing else, I'll make Shale carry me." Hawke blinked and Alistair waved a dismissive hand.

The two rested a short while until the moon was high in the sky, illuminating the clearing beyond well enough that he could see rabbits ruffling the tall grasses. They finally stood to go their separate ways, and Hawke embraced him tightly.

"Andraste guide you, my friend," the man said in an uncharacteristic display of faith.

"And you," Alistair said, and they went their separate ways.


	7. The Warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this doesn't sound like too much of a retelling without leaving gaping holes in the story. It will get more exciting when they get to Skyhold, promise! And more Alistair POV forthcoming :).

20th Harvestmere

The Hinterlands

 

The lake glittered in the sunlight up ahead. A meadow rife with tall grasses and wild flowers rippled with the light breeze before it. Autumn was just now beginning to kiss the landscape down in the Hinterlands. A welcome reprieve from the snowy Frostback Mountains. Maraas spotted two sets of long fleshy colored ears bouncing between the blades of grass. She had heard nugs had once only lived below ground, until the Fifth Blight had driven them upward. They seemed quite happy to frolick in the grasses, in any event.

"We should leave the mounts here," she said, dismounting in the meadow and scanning the wooden dock that stretched from the lake edge nearby to where a cabin lie in the distance on the other side. "This is where Leliana's scouts reported seeing the Warden."

The Captain of the Bull's Chargers, a fellow Qunari who called himself The Iron Bull, dismounted and came to stand beside her. She unconsciously bristled at his proximity, and he flicked her a curious glance with his one good eye. He had revealed himself to be a spy, a member of the Ben Hassrath. As Tal Vashoth, she had been naturally wary of the man, but he had promised not only that he wouldn't interfere with her place within the Inquisition, but would filter his reports through Leliana and provide them with useful tidbits as well. The information he had already provided had put a gleam in the Spymistress's eyes that had made Maraas shudder. Thus he was already proving his worth.

"So how are we approaching this one, boss?" He asked, pretending he hadn't noticed her discomfort.

"We don't know anything yet. Certainly no reason to suspect any foul play."

Her fingers itched to draw her sword, but she kept it sheathed as she approached the dock. The dark weathered wood creaked under her weight as she stepped onto the boards. With a deep breath, she made her way out over the lake. Fish splashed nearby and insects buzzed over the surface. The sun felt warm on her face, and she resisted the urge to linger- to sit down and dangle her bare feet in the water. She was envisioning doing just that when a board snapped beneath her. Strong hands gripped her waist and pulled her back up just as her boots sloshed into the murky water along with the splintered pieces of wood. The Iron Bull sat her back on a more solid surface and she glanced up at his face, which was a mask of neutrality. His hands were firm and warm even through the leather of her armor, and as she glanced up at his face, she found it felt good.

He held her gaze for a moment before nodding and releasing her. "Might want to keep your mind on where you're going, boss."

Anger flashed through her and her eyes narrowed. She bit back the retort that was forming on her tongue. She noticed Solas and Cassandra both leaning around Bull's wide form to see what was transpiring, and she heard Varric chuckle quietly behind them. Forcing herself to calm, she turned and resumed her trek across the dock, this time more wary of the aged wood.

On the opposite shore before the cabin, she saw a rag tag group of men, sparsely armored and being instructed by a man with long greying black hair and matching beard. He wore a padded green jerkin with a simple breastplate and bracers which didn't quite match. His description matched what the scouts had reported, but he didn't look quite like what Maraas imagined a Grey Warden would. She stood at the end of the dock studying him for a moment before making her approach.

"Warden Blackwall?" She called, walking around the assembled men.

The man's eyes widened and he looked like a cornered animal. "How do you know that name?" He demanded, approaching her.

She reached up for her sword as his shield came up. She jumped as arrows suddenly pierced the worn wood. She had been so distracted by sizing up the man that she hadn't noticed that they'd become surrounded. " _Vashedan_! What-"

"Help or leave," he snarled. "We deal with these idiots first."

The group of bandits had begun their assault and her companions had already moved into defensive positions, leaving little room for argument. The warden issued a few hasty last remarks to his group of men and the battle was underway. Maraas drew her sword and pulled up her guard as a poorly armored man struck out at her with a mace he obviously had not received the training to use efficiently. She blocked his attack, and kicked him back while he was unbalanced, bringing her sword down after. Moving on, she encountered a man with a sword held with such a poor grip that she almost cringed as she knocked it from his hand.

The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun, and she watched with interest as Warden Blackwall seemed to mourn the men he had killed before congratulating his charges, which he referred to as "conscripts."

"Take back what they stole," he ordered them. "Go back to your families. You've saved yourselves."

The assembled men dispersed and realization came to Maraas, lighting her eyes with a smile that she hid under a stoic mask as she approached the Warden. "These men were defending themselves from looters."

The grizzled man dropped his head slightly as he wiped off his sword and put it in its sheath. "Wardens have the right to conscript into their order. Outside a Blight, I used it... rather creatively. Grey Wardens inspire. They can make you better than you think you are."

Bull leaned against the wall of the cabin, studying the man with an impassive face. "You've led men before. Trained them. It shows."

Blackwall narrowed his eyes at the Qunari, and Maraas hastily spoke again. "What you did for them was... very kind."

"Right," he said, running a hand back through his hair and eying her suspiciously. "Now tell me who you are and what you want."

"My name is Maraas. I'm an agent of the Inquisition." She paused for his reaction and noticed his eyebrows raise in recognition. "We're looking into the disappearance of the Grey Wardens, and any possible connection to the incident at the Conclave."

"Maker's Balls!" Blackwall began pacing in front of the dock in agitation. "Our purpose isn't political, there's no way... What do you mean they've _disappeared_?"

Maraas glanced at Cassandra who nodded in encouragement. "We've had reports of Grey Wardens leaving Ferelden and Orlais in great number. The only ones who appear to remain are you and one Warden Loghain who resides at the palace in Denerim."

"Warden Loghain," he said, scratching his beard in thought. "Now there's a name for the history books."

"What do you know of this fellow warden, Loghain?" Bull asked.

"Only what they've put in the history books," the man responded. "As for the wardens, there's not much for us to do outside a Blight, right? So we disappear."

"Except you," Bull said almost accusingly. "And this Loghain fellow."

Maraas shot Bull a warning glance. "We're not here to lay blame or make accusations," she said, turning the charm up as she came to stand closer to the warden. "We're just looking for facts. Please, anything you can tell us that might be helpful to our cause..."

Blackwall sighed in resignation. "Look, I don't know where the other Wardens are. The fortress in Weisshaupt, maybe? And I can't speak for Warden Loghain, but I usually travel alone. Recruiting and such. Maybe a messenger missed me. Maybe something got lost while demons started hailing on our asses. But I've been alone with no contact from the Order since before the Conclave."

Maraas sighed heavily and nodded her head. "Well thank you, Warden Blackwall. It's been a pleasure. But I suppose we must look elsewhere for the answers we seek."

She gestured to the others and tentatively stepped back onto the dock. She had only gotten a few steps in when she heard the warden calling out behind her.

"Inquisition agent, you said? You aren't... that is, would that make you Andraste's Herald that I've been hearing about?"

Maraas pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to exhale slowly and turn around with a smile. "That's what some are calling me, yes."

Blackwall nodded and his gaze travelled her frame as if looking for some divine mark and locking onto the green haze that clung to her gauntlet. "In times such as these, we can't have people believing the wardens have simply abandoned them, or worse, involved somehow. You need a Warden. You need me. I can extend to your cause the Grey Warden treaties, and I'll be your man without reservation."

Maraas's eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. Before she could respond, Bull asked, "What can a single warden do?"

She could tell from his tone that it was a test, and Blackwall didn't disappoint, claiming with conviction, "To save the fucking world, if pressed."

She noticed Bull's lip quirk with approval, and and she smiled widely herself. "Well, Warden," she said warmly. "Welcome to the Inquisition."

 

************************************

 

New warden ally in tow, Maraas and her merry band rode hard for Redcliffe to make contact with the rebel mages. She had been hesitant to make the trip, hoping Josephine by some miracle would gain them an audience with the templars. In the meantime, Leliana had urged them to hear Fiona out after they had spoken with Warden Blackwall. By late afternoon, its walls were in sight. Maraas kicked her mount up to pick up the pace. They passed a cabin that looked abandoned and she could hear shouting up ahead. Her hand throbbed painfully, indicating the nearness of a rift. Sure enough, as they rounded the bend, the green glow of a rift came into view, spewing demons. She could make out the spindly legs of terrors fighting the Redcliffe forces.

"It's the Inquisition! The Herald!" Someone shouted, and Maraas dismounted mid gallop, followed by her companions.

Maraas let out a cry and rushed a nearby terror, only to feel her muscles slow of her own accord. The sickly green glow had taken hold of her, making her feel as if she were running in a dream. Then time itself seemed to speed up around her and she really did vomit when it spat her back out in the dirt. The terror took advantage, swiping at her, and she screamed as it's claws burned through her armor. Quickly rolling away, she came to a stand and swiped with her greatsword. She got in two lucky strikes before it pooled into the ground in a green flash and disappeared, only to reappear behind her. Even though she was expecting it, the force of its reentrance still knocked her off balance. She quickly righted herself and lashed out with a fury until it dissipated into a green mist that was quickly sucked back into the rift.

The assembled fighters from both the Inquisition and Redcliffe combat the remaining demons, careful to avoid the now obvious green eddies that altered the flow of time. When the last demon had fallen, Maraas reached up for the rift and closed her fist as she willed it to close. At some point in their travels, the push and pull of closing a rift had become second nature. She wasn't sure if that was more reassuring given the necessity, or simply alarming. This one, however, felt different. The energy surged through her, inducing nausea, and her legs almost buckled before she finally felt the audible pop as it snapped closed.

The Redcliffe forces errupted into cheers, and their commander called for the gate to lift and admit them. Maraas and Cassandra entered first, followed by the others. A scout jogged up to fall into step slightly behind Cassandra, letting them know that he had arranged a neutral meeting space in the Gull and Lantern tavern.

"You should know, however, that no one was expecting us," the scout said.

"Did she keep her meeting with us secret?" Maraas asked.

"We should be on our guard," Cassandra said with a snarl. "I don't know what the former Grand Enchanter is playing at, but we'll know soon enough."

The scout hovered behind them, and they both paused to look at him expectantly. "Arl Teagan and his family, his whole house, have left Redcliffe."

Maraas and Cassandra met each other's eyes. "It's not too late, Maraas. We can go back to Skyhold and await Josephine's efforts to gain us audience with the Templars."

"We can still approach them if need be. We're already here, and I suspect it will look worse if we pull out now," she replied.

"I agree with the boss," Bull said, and Maraas narrowed her eyes at him.

"Let us at least hear them out, Seeker," Solas pled, and Cassandra yielded, continuing to the tavern.

Their progress was slow, due to the number of people in residence who desired the assistance or merely to look upon the supposed 'Herald of Andraste.' When they finally pushed through the doors of the tavern, the atmosphere was tense. A few of the mages were in attendance, and while some looked on with curiousity or desperation, a few held outright animosity in their eyes.

"Andraste's Herald, that's her!" A whispered voice came from the crowd.

"Chantry dogs by any other name," came a snarky reply.

Maraas had known this wasn't going to be simple, but it seemed it would be more difficult than she thought.

"Agents of the Inquisition," a delicate and distinctly Orlesian voice greeted them. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Maraas studied the woman's yellow green elven eyes which held nothing but confusion and suspicion. "You really don't know?"

Fiona let out a deep breath and indicated the table next to which she stood. "Shall we sit?"

Bull, Blackwall, and Varric positioned themselves between the others and the door, and Solas hovered behind the chair Maraas took beside Cassandra, mirroring the glowering young mage who stood behind Fiona.

"We heard about the alliance with Tevinter on the way in," Maraas said once they were seated. "Just what are you playing at?"

Fiona was taken aback by the forwardness. "I did what I believed was best for the mages in my care."

"What you've done is make it harder for us to help you," Solas said. "In fact, you've made it more difficult to achieve the freedom you so desire."

"Do you really have no recollection of meeting us in Val Royeaux?" Maraas asked.

"I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave," Fiona said, still looking nonplussed.

"Then who asked us to come here?" Maraas asked just before the tavern door burst open and three cruel looking Tevinter men strolled in. Maraas and her party stood, gripping their weapons in a show of force.

"Welcome my friends," said the one in the middle, obviously their leader. "I apologize for not greeting you earlier."

Maraas could taste the tang of dark magic in the air around this man, and her own magic roiled beneath her skin, demanding release. She knew what he was. Fiona snarled distastefully and introduced him as her master, Magister Gereon Alexius. His arrival seemed to invoke the same mixed reactions that the Inquisition's had. The magister studied Maraas intensely and his presence made her skin crawl like stinging fire ants.

"You are the so called 'Herald of Andraste'? Who stepped out of the Fade. An oxwoman. Fascinating."

"Mind your distance, ' _Vint_ ," Maraas spat.

"Leash your pet, Templar," he said to Cassandra. "You were here to talk business, were you not? Let us sit."

They returned to their places around the table, this time with Alexius in Fiona's seat, while Fiona stood to the side. He motioned for a younger man that he introduced as his son, Felix. "If you would, send for a scribe." The younger man bowed his head and left the tavern. "There's no telling how many mages you'll need for your endeavor."

"I thought I'd just take all of them off your hands," Maraas said with a snarl.

"Be reasonable. I can grant you-"

A choked sound came from the door and they all turned to see Felix stumbling back in looking as if the blood had drained from his face. Maraas stood just in time to catch the man as he collapsed into her. Alexius was at the boy's side as fast as lightning, righting him.

"I'm so sorry, my Lady. Forgive my clumsiness," Felix said, giving her a meaningful look.

"Oh, my dear boy," the magister said in the first genuine display of emotion she had seen on the man thus far. "Let's fetch your powders. Fiona, come. I'm sorry, my friends. We'll have to continue this another time."

Maraas watched them usher Felix from the room before she unfolded the note he had slipped into her hand. "The Chantry," she said to Cassandra, keeping her voice low.

"A trap?" The woman asked.

"Undoubtedly," she agreed. "Only one way to find out."

 

*************************************

 

The Iron Bull shouldered the massive doors open and they entered to see the tell tale green flicker of a rift.

"Close the doors," Maraas said softly. "Let's get to work."

Halfway through the fight, she realized another mage had joined them. An impeccably dressed Tevinter man with a styled moustache was hurling fireballs at wraiths.

"Who are you?" She asked between sword strikes.

"Kill demons now, introductions later," he said in response.

The last demon fell, and Maraas closed the rift, earning an appreciative stare from the vint. "Remarkable. How does that work? You don't even know, do you?"

Maraas cut him off before he could prattle further. "Now, tell me who you are. Where is Felix?"

"I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I," the man said with an amused expression. "I imagine Felix will be along in a moment. I am Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?"

"Another Tevinter," Cassandra sneered.

"Watch this one, boss. The pretty ones are always the worst," Iron Bull agreed, and they all momentarily glanced at him in surprise.

The man, Dorian, explained that the magister had once been his mentor, and Maraas agreed that this made him invaluable to their cause. He also went on to explain that Alexius was apparently experimenting with time magic, something Maraas had never imagined to be a possibility. Their experience with the rift and Fiona's strange behavior at the gate certainly lent this creedence. Maraas was terrified, not that she'd show it to this Tevinter, or anyone for that matter. The seemingly infinite possibilities of magic continued to surprise her.

She composed herself enough to ask, "Why come to the Inquisition with this?"

"You are the 'Herald', are you not?" Dorian asked, bemused. "You seal rifts?"

"Yes, but..." Maraas's expression turned thoughtful. "You think it's connected."

Dorian's response was cut off by the arrival of Felix. Maraas studied him with concern and suspicion. "Ah, there you are. Is your father getting suspicious?" Dorian asked him.

"I shouldn't have played the illness card," he responded. "I thought Father would never stop fussing over me."

"Are you alright Felix?" Maraas asked, unable to help herself.

"I am..." the young Tevinter trailed off, searching for the words. "I have Blight sickness. That's why my father is doing this."

She glanced over at Blackwall whose eyes were filled with sympathy. "Playing with time?" She asked.

"My father has joined a cult called the Venatori," Felix explained.

"An insane group of our countrymen who wish to restore the Tevinter Imperium to its former glory," Dorian spat in disgust. "I don't need to explain why this is a bad idea."

"No, but I'm surprised you think so," Bull said.

"Ah, and all us 'vints' are exactly the same, are we?" Dorian had true indignation on his face now.

Felix put a hand on Dorian's arm, trying to diffuse the situation. "I love my father. I love my country, we both do. But this is wrong. This isn't who my father is. That's not what we wany for our country."

"I see your point," Maraas said simply. "Hang on, these Venatori are responsible for the Breach?"

"That's the assumption we're operating under, yes," Dorian said.

"And they're obsessed with you," Felix said, looking at Maraas intently.

She flexed her hand that had begun glowing more intensely and throbbing in time to the pounding of her head. She needed a strong drink and a good rest. "Because of the mark. Because I was there and I survived."

"Exactly," Dorian agreed. "I theorize that mark is some sort of device by which they were planning on entering the Fade physically."

Maraas exchanged a look with Cassandra who said, "We have a solid lead then."

"This certainly takes precedence over the Templars, I would say," Maraas said, turning to eye the stained glass windows warily. "So what's our next move?"

"Well, we certainly don't want Alexius tearing a hole in time in addition to the sky," Dorian said. "He's set a trap for you. I say we spring it."

"You're mad," Cassandra snapped.

"Yes, I've heard that before," Dorian agreed. "But the Venatori won't let this rest. At least in knowing it, you can turn this trap to your own advantage."

Maraas nodded in agreement. "We need to send a bird to Leliana at once."

"I can't stay in Redcliffe," Dorian said. "I've risked much with this meeting already. But I want to be there." He turned for the back of the Chantry where presumably a rear entrance lay. "And Felix, do try not to get yourself killed."

"There are worse things than death, Dorian," Felix said grimly, and they watched the other mage disapear into the shadows.


	8. Woman Out of Time

The Gull and Lantern Tavern

 

Maraas gripped the drink in her hand, feeling the itch between her shoulder blades from all the scrutiny. The whispering was starting to get to her, and she was seriously considering returning to her room upstairs.

Bull slid onto the stool beside her and she muttered a vague acknowledgment. "Boss," he said. "Mind if I join you?"

She swilled down the rest of the light colored ale. "Would it matter if I did?"

Bull sighed and waved at the bartender to order a drink. Once he had a mug of his own, he took a swill and cringed. "That's... not great," he muttered and took another. "I get the feeling you don't like me."

Maraas rolled her eyes and asked for a stronger drink. "You're an excellent warrior. The Chargers are invaluable to the Inquisition."

"I can see that," he agreed. "I trained them myself. I didn't mean as a soldier- I mean you still have an issue with me being Ben Hassrath."

She smirked as she accepted the mug of dark liquor and took a swallow, hiding her blanche as it burned her throat. "You don't say?"

"I haven't hunted Tal Vashoth in quite some time," he said, placing a hand on her cup so that she looked at him. "I'm all but retired to them. Too fucked up to keep around, but too useful to get rid of."

She narrowed her eyes at him. " _Anaan esaam Qun."_

He quirked his lip in amusement. "Right. But that doesn't mean I let that sentiment blind me to the rest of the world. Take my boys for instance, some of them wouldn't last a day under the Qun. I don't give a shit. They're loyal, and they know what counts."

Maraas met his eyes and saw that he meant it. "It was not my choice to leave," she said so quietly she wasn't sure that he heard.

Bull hummed an acknowledgement and took a drink of her whiskey. "Boss, this is piss. I have something better up in my room," he said in a low growl that rumbled in her lower regions.

"Ah," she started nervously. "I appreciate the offer, but why don't you buy the next round instead?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You got it, boss." He called for a whiskey as well and he steered the conversation toward business. "So what's your take on our new friend, the Warden?"

She stifled a groan. "I think he genuinely wants to help us."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed. "But something's funny about him. All that Warden stuff he talks about? I don't think he's really convinced."

"You think the wardens are involved," she said eying him over her glass.

He shrugged. "I don't know about the Wardens. I just know people, and something is off about him. That's all I'm saying. He believes in the Inquisition though, I'll tell ya that much. He believes in you."

Maraas choked on her whiskey. "I wish people wouldn't do that."

Bull laughed, a deep rumbling sound that had her buzzing as much as the whiskey. "Let them have their _hissra_. But boss, even if I don't buy all this bride of the Maker shite, I believe in you too."

She flushed. "Thanks, Bull."

The others eventually found them. Varric talked her into a hand of Wicked Grace and bought another round. Bull and Blackwall spoke amiably despite the former's reservations, and Solas proved to be worthy adversary when it came to gambling. Cassandra turned in early, cautioning them all against letting their guard down in the company of so many mages. The drink kept flowing and so did the evening.

 

*************************************

 

_Heart pounding in time with the throb of green light. Bare, wicked bushes and branches reaching out from every direction to ensare her. She dare not slow, she dare not look back..._

_A blinding flash of_ _green_. _"The hour is upon us."_

_A wolf with piercing blue eyes was keeping pace with her, nipping at her heels every time she slowed in the slightest._

_A door came out of the darkness before her. "Go through! Don't look back!" A familiar voice ordered and she pushed right through into blinding light...._

 

"Maraas, It's alright." Soothing hands were on her face and shoulder. The smell of roses.

"Leliana?" Maraas said tentatively, stilling her thrashing limbs. She opened her eyes and saw the soft, yet concerned face of her Spymistress.

"Everyone is waiting in Solas's room," the woman said gently.

Minutes later, dressed in her leathers and with a warm beverage shoved into her hands, Maraas glanced over at Leliana warily as they made their way to Solas's room. "How long was I asleep?"

"It's nearly midmorning. We've allowed you to rest as long as we could," Leliana replied, eyes straight ahead.

"Leliana, how did you get here so fast?"

They turned the corner and Leliana stopped at the next door. "Here we are," she said tapping on it.

Solas admit them both and hastily closed the door behind them, trailing a hand down the door. Wards, she figured. The others had already assembled and were bent over the lone desk.

"Are you sure these tunnels are still intact?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes," Leliana answered. "It's the only way this plan will work."

"I'm sorry. Catch me up," Maraas said, taking an appreciative sip of the dark beverage in her hand. "And what is this?"

"Antivan coffee," Leliana said simply. "There are tunnels leading through the dungeons of Redcliffe castle. I learned of them during the Fifth Blight."

She went on to explain that they would be utilizing these tunnels to sneak small groups of their forces in when Magister Alexius invites her to speak about the mages- and they knew without a doubt that he would do just that. This was how they would turn the trap to their advantage.

"What if the Venatori discover our troops?" Maraas asked.

"They won't," Dorian asked, slipping into the window. "I'll see to that."

Maraas spat coffee and Cassandra jumped, knocking slips of parchment from the table. "Do stop doing that," the Seeker said menacingly and the mage chuckled.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance," Maraas said in surprise.

"It's what I live for," he said with a charming smile. "Good to see you finally awake. You were, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world. I've spoken with Felix, and they will be sending a messenger this morning with an invitation. For three days from now. Alexius is preoccupied with Fiona working on treatments for Felix at the moment. Should give you time to prepare."

"We'll need to tell Cullen at once. Assemble our people to leave right away," Cassandra said.

"Done," Leliana said, kissing a raven on the head and releasing him through the window.

"Well, seems like everything is in order," Maraas said nervously.

"All the more reason for something to go wrong," Bull said grimly, putting her own thoughts to words.

Marass smiled wanly and took another sip of the strange 'coffee', savoring the flavor. Three days, she thought. Three days to prepare. Three days to consider all the ways this could go terribly wrong.

 

*************************************

 

Blackness and cold. Then, a blinding green light. A loud splash echoed around her, and Maraas slowly became aware that she had fallen into a pool of frigid water. And that she was cutching another person. A man.

"My lady Herald, are you alright?" A familiar voice asked.

"Don't call me that," she hissed, pushing away to clutch her head that was thrumming along with her hand. The chilled water made colder by the stone room they were in seeped in through her armor, bringing full consciousness to her extremities as well as her mind. Her teeth chattered and the events leading up to this unceremonious swim came flooding back to her.

" _You're nothing but a mistake,"_ the magister had said. An accident. Wrong place at the wrong time, and she walked away with a _stolen_  magical anchor. It wasn't as if Maraas had truly believed herself the Herald of Andraste. It shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet it was. She thought, perhaps, she was called to some higher purpose, perhaps, if not Divine, then maybe... she wasn't sure what she had thought. But she had been wrong. She was not meant for this.

"Oh,  _boo-hoo_ ," Dorian said sarcastically. "The mighty Herald of Andraste, savior of the people, crying because she's not _special!_ "

"Mind your tongue _vint_!" Maraas bit back. His words hit too close to their mark, and she reached for anger to cover her embarrassment.

"No, I won't!" He spat haughtily. "You possess an ability my fellow countrymen would kill for- in fact, that is exactly what they are doing! So what that it was an accident, it landed on your hand nonetheless, and now it's your responsibility to right that which is wrong. Where is the tenacity I saw just three days ago? Will you allow what amounts to the words of a saddened and desperate man to rob you of that?"

Maraas blinked at the earnestness- and accuracy- of his words. The fact that it was an accident did not change anything- there was still a group of deranged Tevinters tearing holes in the sky and time itself. And only she had the ability to stop it. Maraas let out a sigh of resignation. "We don't even know where we are."

Dorian narrowed his eyes in thought, glancing around him as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. "No. Not where- when. I believe we've been sent through time. Not what Alexius had intended to be sure, but I seem to have interrupted his original plan."

"We never left Redcliffe castle," she said in amazement, glancing around the flooded room. "But, what do we..."

"First we need to determine when we are in time, and, theoretically, if I can get my hands on that fancy amulet of Alexius's, I can correct this little misadventure."

"Oh, is that all," Maraas said, and a _slam_ drew her attention to the now open door. "Why don't we ask them?"

The two leapt into action, lashing out at the Venatori guards who had stumbled upon them. Maraas spun and swung with all the might her tired and cold numbed limbs could manage. Before long, she realized brute force was not what the situation called for. With a howl of rage, she threw her sword to the side and reached out for connection to the Fade. Heat built from her core, spreading through her limbs, and fire spread down her arms to arc out at the dumbfounded guards. Her flames penetrated their armor and shrieks of pain and horror echoed through the room as she held them in place. The smell of charring flesh made her gag, but she held tight until their thrashing and screaming had stopped. Dropping their blackened remains into the stagnant cold water, she took a couple steps back. At least her clothing was no longer wet- in fact, there was little underneath her armor at all now.

" _Kaffar_!" Dorian gasped in amazement. "I had no idea you were a mage. And a powerful one at that."

She turned and noticed the man was pressed against the far wall and staring at her as if she had sprouted wings to go with her horns. "I don't like magic," she said simply.

Dorian narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "You don't like magic," he said when he could manage speech, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He waded over to where the corpses were bobbing near Maraas and poked one with his staff. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Maraas rolled her eyes and retrieved her sword. "Come on, let's look around."

After stumbling through Redcliffe castle for more than an hour, two things quickly became obvious: the castle had obviously seen better days, and it was currently nursing a terrible red lyrium infection. They also managed to stumble upon their companions that had accompanied them to the castle.

"Boss," a very gaunt looking Iron Bull said in relief. His voice cracked and he coughed dryly. "It's you. But I saw you..."

"Bull, what... what happened to you?" Maraas asked.

The Qunari explained that it had been a year since they watched her evaporate into nothing, and they had been quickly overwhelmed. Without Maraas, the Breach remained and grew to swallow the whole sky. It had heralded the arrival of some new proclaimed God called the Elder One. It was a dark future they had found themselves in- the empress of Orlais had been assassinated, a demon army marched across Thedas, and red lyrium plagued the countryside. Within this castle itself, people were imprisoned and experimented upon with red lyrium or Blight sickness, and many had succumbed to the unnatural elements.

"Oh, Bull, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"You're here now," he said with a little of his former spark back. "Let's go kick some Venatori ass."

Dorian circled his finger delicately around the lock and it clicked, sending the door swinging open. Maraas looked at him in amazement, and he just smiled smugly. The Iron Bull stepped out of the cell, making a loaded comment about nimble fingers, and they proceeded through the dungeon.

After acquiring Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, they stumbled upon Fiona. She was speared through by a great stalagmite of red lyrium. Maraas rushed to the cell and looked desperately around for any chance to free her, but it was hopeless.

"The only way to save her is to ensure none of this ever happens," Dorian reminded her, and began to lead her away.

"Herald?" Fiona called weakly after them, and Maraas turned to see she had lifted her head slightly to peer at her. "You've... returned. You're Spymistress... she's here... they..." The woman trailed off, unable to speak more.

"It's alright. I'll make this right."

The elf's head slumped back down, and Maraas quickly turned away, unable to look upon the woman anymore.

They soon found their way out of the dungeons and came upon a long stone corridor. Voices came from a nearby room, and Maraas froze when she realized one belonged to Leliana. With one look to Bull, the massive Qunari ran horns first for the door and it splintered with his entrance. The room beyond proved to be a torture chamber. There was a brief confused pause and Leliana, who was suspended by her arms, wrapped her legs around the neck of the man before her and quickly dispatched him. Maraas had time to nod appreciatively before the chamber errupted into chaos. Two other guards and a mage were too easy for them to fall, and Maraas retrieved the key from the latter to free Leliana.

The woman was reticent to share her experiences of the last year, but was prepared to fight through the castle at their side. A cursory glance at the scattered notes revealed that she was among the number experimented on with the Blight. Leliana had proven the most resistant to the illness, and so was the most valuable prisoner held here. Maraas refused to look at the rest carnage around the room, and they quickly resumed their trek toward the throne room which surely contained Alexius.

 

*****************************************

 

Varric watched the scene unfold around him with the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Maraas and Felix played their hand, and Dorian strode into the room, an unlikely hero making a glamorous entrance, and he held his breath, waiting. The Inquisition forces stepped from the shadows, as the Venatori guards around the throne room slowly began to fall. He couldn't have experienced a better scene if he'd penned it himself.

"You are a mistake," Alexius hissed. "You should never have existed."

The magister raised a gauntlet clad hand and a glowing amulet raised into the air. It emit the same sickly color as the breach, and the air in the room crackled. Varric and the others twitched, unsure of what to expect or do next. Dorian didn't hesitate; he sent a blast of some sort of magic at the other mage, sending him backward, and threw himself upon Maraas to shield her. The action seemed to be all for naught as the amulet unleashed a green whirlwind that swallowed the two up and winked from existence.

Everyone in the room held their collective breaths, for one dark moment believing it had all ended. The magister scrambled to his knees, looking around nervously before drawing in a breath, likely to call for reinforcements, but he never got the chance. A green storm, complete with dark clouds and lightning filled the room. From it, stepped Maraas and Dorian, the former of which slugged the magister right in the nose.

"You'll have to do better than that," Dorian said from behind her shoulder as the magister folded in upon himself in despair.

"Yield, and the Inquisition shall show mercy," Maraas snarled through her teeth, grabbing the magister by the front of his robes. Her white blonde hair had fallen free from its binding and cascaded around her face dramatically. Her expression was fierce, and it was accentuated by her black horns. She looked like a divine herald indeed.

"You won," the defeated mage said forlornly. "There's no point in continuing this charade." He turned toward his son then, face crestfallen and tears beginning to fall. "You'll... die."

Felix crouched beside him, smiling wanly. "It's going to be alright father. Everyone dies. At least now I die knowing my father hasn't destroyed the world."

"I'm so sorry, my son." The two embraced, and everyone turned away to give them a moment's privacy before the Inquisition's forces seized the elder mage.

Just as the assembled members of the Inquisition were preparing to leave, in marched a new set of soldiers. Swords were gripped before they realized these were none other than the Queen's men, as her highness herself followed in their wake and removed her hood to reveal the crown of Fereldan. An imposing and steely eyed man in heavy grey armor came to stand beside her, short dark glossy hair combed back fashionably and a sneer across his face. The Ferelden born in the room knelt.

"Grand Enchanter," the Queen reprimanded. "When I granted you safe harbor, I did not anticipate that you would bring in Tevinter to destroy my kingdom."

"Your majesty," Fiona said, pushing past a group of Inquisition soldiers to kneel before the Queen. "I never intended-"

"I don't care what you intended," the regal woman said haughtily. "You will leave Fereldan, or be forced to."

"But..." the former Grand Enchanter said hopelessly. "We have hundreds... children..."

"The Inquisition stands ready to bargain still," Maraas said, coming to stand beside Fiona. "We still have a breach to close."

"And... and what does the Inquisition offer?" Fiona asked hesitantly.

"I suggest you accept, regardless," Queen Anora said. "You have little choice."

Fiona turned with a snarl to face Maraas, who said, "Your first bid for freedom failed. You will need to earn your privileges now."

"And if we cooperate..."

"I guess we'll have to see, won't we?" Maraas said cryptically.

The Queen stepped forward to address Maraas, who momentarily looked nervous before reclining her head slightly in respect. Anger flashed across the Queen's face and the man gripped his sword, but she stayed his arm. "I suppose thanks are in order," she said with an almost sarcastic, yet charming air. "You have restored order to Redcliffe and Arl Teagan will return to his lands at once."

Varric didn't miss the veiled threat laced within the gratitude, and Maraas didn't either. "Of course, your majesty. That is what the Inquisition is here to do."

Queen Anora narrowed her eyes slightly up at the horned Qunari woman. "The Herald of Andraste, is it?"

Maraas's face tightened slightly. "That's what some are calling me, yes."

"That remains to be seen," the other woman said simply. "But I shall be in touch. And I will be watching your progress."

"Of course, your highness."

The Queen and her guard retreated as quickly as they arrived, the sneering man remaining long enough to glare Maraas down until the Queen called over her shoulder, "Warden Loghain."

Whispers echoed around the room, and the man's lip quirked into what could have been a smile if not for the malice it contained before he followed his monarch and daughter. "Farewell, Herald," he said in a rough voice. "This shall not be the last we meet."

Maraas looked as if she were preparing a retort, but she smiled instead, showing all of her teeth in a half snarl. "Guaranteed, _Warden_  Loghain."

Once the door had closed behind the royal entourage, the Inquisition prepared to leave. Varric watched the contemptuous looks flying this way and that across the room, and covered his amusement with a cough, coming to stand beside Maraas.

"That went well," he said, and she shot him a rude look. "Well, it ended well at least."

"It's not over yet," she said, walking away.

Varric watched her go, wide hips swinging in anger, and he shook his head. Something had happened in that split second that she and Dorian had disappeared. Shit had just gotten a whole lot weirder.


	9. Andraste's Favored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana shares a secret from her past with Maraas. Alistair is visited by a long lost friend.

_The Lady knelt at his side, saying:_  
_"Arise, Aegis of the Faith. You are not forgotten._  
_Neither man nor Maker shall forget your bravery_  
_So long as I remember."_  
  
_At this, his wounds healed, and he stood_  
_And gathered up the ashes, and carried them_  
_To the lands of the Alamarri, away from sorrow forever._

_\- Canticle of Apotheosis 2:17-2:18_

 

2nd Firstfall, 9:41 Dragon Age

Haven Dock

 

"Maraas?" Leliana stepped out of the shadows behind her and she jumped, nearly falling to the ice below. The woman's features were mostly shrouded by her hood and the minimal light from the evening sky, but Maraas glimpsed the concern that flashed across her stormy eyes as she righted herself. "I apologize for startling you. I thought you might need to speak with me."

The Qunari resumed her brooding over the crystalline surface of the lake. The breeze lifted little eddies of snow that sparkled in the ever present emerald light of the Breach--the one positive, if she could find one, was the surreal effect it had on nights such as these. She had been avoiding Leliana, and in fact everyone since she had returned from Redcliffe two days ago. She had been unable to meet the Spymistress's eyes as she had given her accounting of the events to the council, and she should have known it would make such a woman suspicious. Even now as the two of them stood vigil beneath the rippling heavens, she could not find the words to explain what was troubling her. 

Leliana waited patiently, and when Maraas made no attempt to answer, she spoke instead. "The appearance of Warden Loghain was unexpected, though hardly surprising. He likes to keep his daughter well in arm's reach. Their seeming hostility toward the Inquisition--to you specifically--isn't unique either, and thus not suspicious enough to warrant action against the Ferelden throne. Not yet anyway. Sadly, this leaves us still wanting for answers regarding the Wardens."

"For every piece of the puzzle we find, more still elude us," Maraas said resignedly. 

Leliana hummed her response. "Time magic. I never considered such a feat possible."

"The more I learn about magic, the more I wish..." she trailed off, knowing that struggling against what is was a useless endeavor. Breathing deeply, she smelled the the heady floral fragrance of the woman beside her, and visions of her face, ravaged by Blight sickness, swam through her mind unbidden. Her final words as Dorian ushered Maraas to the rift that would take them back through time... "I watched you die for me."

The words were barely above a whisper, but Leliana responded matter of factly. "And I would do it again. As would most of the Inquisition."

"I never asked them to," Maraas said with more venom than she intended. 

The Spymistress took her tone in stride. "It might give us pause if you did." Maraas turned and watched as the woman's lip quirked briefly into a smile before her gaze became distant. "It would not be the first time, however."

Maraas paused in nodding acknowledgment and cocked her head in confusion. "The first time... that someone asked you to die for them?"

"That I died," the woman said calmly. Maraas gaped at her, and she continued. "You have heard the stories of the Fifth Blight, have you not? You know I traveled with the... the  _Hero_ of Ferelden. I, unfortunately, was not around to see him slay the Archdemon."

Maraas thought again of the Leliana from the ill fated future. "What... happened?"

Leliana visibly withdrew and her eyes darkened, causing Maraas to start at the amount of emotion the usually stoic Spymistress was conveying. The woman was silent so long that Maraas worried she would not answer. But then she said in a small, distant voice, "He was very charismatic. The so called hero. He commanded authority, and we followed. He had only been a Grey Warden a short time, but he built an army with such ease... we knew he was going to lead us in ending the Blight. I believed him to be a great hero that bards such as myself would sing of for ages to come."

"Sounds like you loved him."

She laughed mirthlessly, an almost wicked sound. "We all did, I suppose. Zevran especially. Even Alistair-" Her face lightened briefly at the name- "though it was different for him. He deferred to Daylen, seeing a leader in the mage that he could not find within himself. Wynne was the only one who wasn't convinced, and she questioned him constantly. We thought her time in the tower and what she had endured there had embittered her, perhaps. We couldn't have been farther from wrong.

"After the incident at Redcliffe castle, he started to become distant. Alistair as well, and they would leave Wynne and I at camp more and more. Alistair, who had been so warm, so open... he grew colder, and he would not tell me what was going on. And then we went in search of the Ashes."

"To save the Arl of Redcliffe," Maraas supplied, wide eyed and enthralled as a child listening to a tale.

"Yes," Leliana said sadly. "Wynne and I, of course, pleaded to go with them. We wanted to see the Temple, to glimpse upon what remained of the bride of the Maker... and were appalled to discover the cult. They granted us safe passage in exchange for a favor. Daylen must poison the Ashes, and he agreed to their terms. I was certain that it had been a rouse. He surely wouldn't blaspheme the most holy of relics." A single tear slid down her rouge stained cheek. "Alistair took a pinch of the ashes for Arl Eamon, and then Amell... I couldn't let it happen, nor could Wynne. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he was adept in using blood magic. Alistair was not surprised, nor did he attempt to fight at my side."

The betrayal on her face was obvious, and it hurt Maraas's stomach to see. "The man I had given my heart to watched as I succumbed to a life draining spell. He begged his fellow Warden to stop, beseeched him in the name of the Maker. The only mercy that vile man granted was to take up Alistair's sword and remove my head from my shoulders. I fell beside Wynne, whose life's blood pooled on the temple floor..." A gulp that could have been a sob punctuated the statement. "And then Daylen Amell went on to make the ultimate sacrifice, dying valiantly slaying the Archdemon."

Maraas felt her face contort with disgust and grief. "Then the stories are wrong. He was no hero."

"It does not matter." Leliana's face was once again a mask of impassiveness. "He ended the Blight and became the hero Ferelden needed."

Maraas blinked as she remembered there was more to the story. "Obviously death did not keep you."

"I awoke in the temple, some time later. I was alone, Wynne's lifeless form still beside me, and remembered in great detail what had happened. I prayed to the Maker for answers, for Wynne's return, and only found silence. I returned to Orlais, and after battling my past demons, sought out an old friend. Revered Mother Dorothea, who would become Divine Justinia, welcomed me back into the Chantry with open arms. I told her what had transpired and she simply said that the Maker's methods are not for us to know. She said He still had need of me, and that I was called to a higher purpose. Thus I became the Left Hand of the Divine."

Her face fell again and Maraas fisted her hand at her side, struggling with the need to comfort this woman. "Leliana, I...."

"She would not want sorrow for her loss," she said with a wry smile. "She would want us to continue what she started. As the Maker intended." She glanced slyly up at Maraas from beneath her impossibly thick lashes. "She would have loved you. She would have been proud to have you serve among her Inquisition."

"A Tal Vashoth mercenary and a mage?" Maraas shook her head in disbelief. "I am not even Andrastian, nor do I believe in any Maker."

Leliana laughed softly, and this time there was warmth to it. "Are you so sure? In any event, she would have found such a prospect amusing. A doubter and a mage restoring order and faith."

Maraas bit her lip so as not to beleaguer the point, and she smiled despite herself. "I wish I could have met this Divine of yours. I wish... I could have saved her..."

"You are doing her work, and that is enough. Her goodness lives on. Even if you do not believe, Maraas, keep faith. If nothing else, have faith in the Inquisition. Faith in Thedas."

The two stood for a time in comfortable silence, staring up at the fractured sky. The stars twinkled defiantly, refusing to be put out by the Breach, and Maraas began pointing out the constellations as she had been learning in her travels. Leliana smiled up at her with pride, much as Tama once had as she faithfully recited the tenants of the Qun. For once since her childhood, she felt at home.

 

 

In another part of Thedas, looking at the same stars and wounded heavens, Alistair sat slowly turning nugs over a small campfire. He recalled a time when one could only find the hairless beasts below ground. The Blight, perhaps, had encouraged them to seek higher ground. Leliana had always been fond of them, a fact that had driven him to acquire a runt from a casteless dwarf in Dust Town during their time in Orzammar. The look in her eyes when he had presented her with the creature had made their endeavors in the Deep Roads somewhat less unpleasant. He felt a pang of regret as he smelled the sweet roasting flesh, but he was hungry, and they dare not build a fire big enough for a stag or a ram.

"It is so lost in thought that Its dinner is burning."

"Huh?" Alistair glanced over at Shale where she stood watching the dark hills and then down at the fleshy bits that begun to darken. "They are not burnt. Just crispy. Which is how I like them."

The golem harrumphed in response. "It does have a better sense of direction than cooking, I hope."

"I know exactly where we're going," Alistair said defensively, removing the spit from the flames. "Isabella gave me a map, and marked the route."

"The promiscuous human?" She sniffed derisively. 

"Being the admiral of a pirate fleet makes one an expert of hiding places," he retorted. 

"Then It intends to hide until Its problems go away?"

"Of course not." Alistair made to pick at the roast nug and cursed when he burnt his fingers. He sucked the wounded appendage, and griped before continuing. "Just until I know how best to approach the Wardens. We've already proven we are no match for the entire order. We need more knowledge, or manpower... or something."

"I see." Shale was quiet for a long time and Alistair ate his meal in peace. "Warden?" she asked suddenly as he was banking the fire.

"Yeeeesss?"

"I am... glad you found me when you did. Squishy as you are."

His lips quirked and he said in amusement, "You're welcome. I missed you too."

Still smiling, he lay down on his bedding and settled in to sleep.

 

 

_Why could it never be someplace light and cheery?_ He thought bitterly.  _With birds singing, and beautiful, full figured... non demonic women?_ Instead, it was always the raw Fade or the Deep Roads. Ever since he had taken the Joining, and especially after the Fifth Blight. The very two places he shuddered at the prospect of ever returning to. 

Grey green light slanted through the gnarled and awkwardly reaching tree branches that he prayed were not sylvans that would suddenly come alive and wrap around his arms and legs. Yet another nightmare he suffered frequently. From the distance came the eerie song, beckoning to him. The dark melody both enchanted and repulsed him. He could almost make out a voice within the song, and the muscles in his jaw clenched as he struggled to  _not_ discern the words. He feared that if he ever understood it, he would be lost to it. Even in sleep-- _especially_ in sleep--a Warden was not free from the torment of the taint. 

"Right," Alistair muttered, withdrawing his sword. "Let us begin."

He trekked out across the barren wasteland that seemed to be the default state of the Fade--a blank canvas from which the spirits recreated the images they found in the minds of the dreaming mortals. As he recalled this bit of knowledge, ghostly figures began to take shape around him. Arl Eamon's face whisped next to him, as did Teagan's. He saw his brother and father momentarily, before he spotted the ethereal visage of Daylen Amell. He clamped down on the thought and banished it from his mind, and the spectral form disappeared. He cautioned himself not to allow his mind to wander in this place as he climbed a steep incline, hoping that whatever awaited him would just reveal itself so he could could get this over with. When he crested the hill, he look down on the valley below and was disheartened to find nothing, save for more of the scraggly trees and expanse of rocky terrain. 

The song was all around him now, filling him like his head was stuffed with sickly cicadas. It _itched_ , though he stifled the urge to scratch himself bloody to escape the torment. That was when the tittering began. The sound of darkspawn arose to accompany the dark tune in a macabre orchestra that prickled the skin on his exposed neck. He jerked this way and that, attempting to find the source of the noise, but to no avail. Perhaps they were underground? And then, as suddenly as the cacophony had started, it stopped. 

His breath caught as he strained to hear the Calling that had been in his head moments ago. He found the silence discomfiting, as it was always quiet before something big and nasty reared its head. Some sort of demon was nearby, and he didn't need to be a mage to sense it. He focused on stilling his wildly pounding heart and slowing his breath. Demons and spirits fed on strong emotion, and he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of an evening meal.

"Alistair?" A gentle voice came from behind him, and he spun, sword prepared to swing.

"Maferath's balls!" He almost dropped his sword when he saw the familiar face. It was one he had not thought of in quite some time. "What is this? Some new form of torture?"  

The soft, weathered face smiled at him lovingly. "Blunt and excitable as ever, I see."

Alistair swallowed and tears stung his eyes. He was definitely asleep, so it was not quite as shocking as the reappearance of Leliana years ago in Kirkwall. But it had much the same effect. It was said the lost souls of the dead occasionally became lost on their way to the Beyond. "Wynne? Is it really you?"

Her smile widened as if she were about to utter a sarcastic answer, but then it dimmed suddenly as she glanced up at the green grey sky. "I wish I could say for certain myself. Let us say that her memory lives on in me."

Alistair was saddened by the notion, but even he didn't know enough about the Fade to say one way or another. "So, then, you would be the..."

"I can only say I know both," she said. "Wynne and Faith. Once we became one, it was difficult to know one from the other..."

Alistair recalled what Hawke had once said of Anders and Justice. Emotion weighed heavily on the Grey Warden commander as he considered the implications. He wasn't sure what to say to this apparition of the woman he had loved as a mother. "I... there's not a day that goes by..."

"I know, Alistair." She placed a hand on his arm, and he could almost feel its weight from the contact. "It wasn't your fault, and I--Wynne never held you responsible. The past is the past. Let us consider the future. That's why I am here. We haven't much time."

So she--this spirit, whatever she was--had been the one to bring him here. "Is this about the Wardens? About what they're doing?"

"Yes," she said, and her expression turned grave. "Something far worse than the Wardens could have imagined lurks in the shadows. For centuries it slept, but now it builds its army. Three factions, it has taken, and of them, one has already slipped through its fingers."

"What does that mean?" Alistair asked, but as he did, he could hear the song in his head beginning anew. "An Archdemon?"

"No, but it commands the Blight itself." The spirit began to dim before him, almost flickering like a candle as the hissing of darkspawn sounded from somewhere behind her. "Alistair, you must-"

The song in his head with the accompanying cries of darkspawn swelled to a crescendo and her words were lost to him. He clutched his head, snarling as he strained to hear her. "Wynne, what... I can't hear you!"

"You will have allies..." Her voice was coming in and out of clarity as her image did. "They will come for you... She will help..."

The hissing clawed at his eardrums mercilessly and he clenched his teeth. "What? Who?"

"....horns... Herald... Andraste..." She grew dimmer and dimmer until she finally disappeared.

"Wynne, wait!" he cried. "Come back! I don't know what that means!" A sob escaped his lips and he continued in a whisper, "Don't leave me again."

Despite his protests, the specter did not return, and beyond where she had stood, he saw the front line of the darkspawn hoard pour over the ridge. They thundered down the hill right for him and he had little choice but to ready his sword. The song in his head blocked out much else as he stood ready to greet them.

"Blast!" As the line of hurlocks reached him, he swung his sword and the world fell away from him...

 

 

Alistair sat up in his bedroll, automatically bringing his sword with him. The Calling had subsided somewhat, but still tickled the back of his mind unnervingly and left him with a migraine. When his vision cleared, he saw only Shale watching him intently with a look he recognized in her stony features to be concern.

"Dreaming," she stated. "I imagine. And it didn't look like a good one."

Alistair rubbed his face vigorously, trying to dispel the remains of the nightmare from behind his eyes. Not for a single moment did he doubt what he'd seen had actually happened. Wynne--or at least the spirit who had saved her in the Ferelden Circle Tower years ago--had called to him as he slept to deliver a message. One he still could not decipher. Something had tried to keep him from hearing her message. The taint, the Calling, or perhaps a demon? Had that been what she was warning him of?

"What could be worse than an Archdemon? What could command the Blight?" He muttered absently to himself. "And what sort of horns herald Andraste?"

Shale was studying him still from the other side of the dying embers that had been his campfire. "Are those serious questions?"

"What? No. Maybe?" Alistair sighed and lay back on his bedding. He could see the faint coloring of the Eastern horizon and knew it was time to embark. With a resigned sigh, he stood and quickly gathered up his belongings. Passing a pack to Shale and shouldering the other, he set about clearing any trace of their campsite. The two set off just as the sky began changing colors, heading to the West and avoiding the main roads. Alistair pondered Wynne's cryptic words as they walked. They at least provided a reprieve from the Calling that had been hounding him for months. He couldn't decide if she had meant a literal fanfare announcing the Bride of the Maker, or some sort of metaphorical sign indicating an ally sent by Andraste and the Maker in their time of need? Either way, he hoped that meant their chances of success were improving. 


	10. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maraas finally comes face to face with the one responsible for the destruction of the Conclave. But is the Inquisition ready?

5th Firstfall, 9:41 Dragon Age

The Breach

 

 

"Focus past the Herald!" Solas called to the assembled mages and the few templars who had followed Cullen. "Lend her your will!"

They had found little more than a deserted castle and a rampant shapeshifting demon when the Chargers had gone to investigate the Templars' fortress. As Bull had insisted upon remaining in the Hinterlands with Maraas, his Lieutenant, Krem, had taken the lead on the investigation. The demon at Therinfall had led them on a merry chase through the surrounding countryside and even disguised itself as Krem to confuse its pursuers. Fortunately, Bull's mercenaries knew one another well enough that they weren't fooled by an imposter. The young lieutenant had met Maraas's eyes across the war table with a wink when he had briefed the council, and she found herself as impressed as his captain had been. The company had been commended for their efforts, and the Inquisition discovered just how invaluable the Bull's Chargers really were. 

Unfortunately, the Templars' mysterious disappearance meant that Maraas now had to face the Breach with little more than the mages who had indentured themselves to Tevinter at her back--many of whom were barely out of adolescence. In the two weeks they had to prepare, however, they had proven to be formidable magic users. Even the youngest among them held more control over his abilities than Maraas did. A fact which made her cheeks burn in shame even now as she gaped up at the swirling emerald vortex above her. Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian had all done their best to coach her for this moment, but she still found herself feeling inadequate. She glanced around the ruins of the ancient temple at the assembled forces awash in the bright green light, and the ash and snow strewn ground punctuated by red lyrium. Seeing the hope on the faces of those around her, she steeled herself for what was to come. 

This was it, the moment of truth. The Breach flared blindingly and her hand thrummed in time with it, causing her stomach to ache and head to swim. Her fingertips itched to begin, but she awaited Solas's signal to reach her hand upward. She connected, the raw magic of the Veil coalescing around her hand, and she felt the familiar polar forces seize her with more ferocity than any of the smaller rifts she had sealed. Electricity crawled along her body, causing all her hairs to stand on end. As she struggled to take control, she felt the pull within her entire body; her muscles and bones ached with the effort, teeth gritting painfully. The combined energies of the mages and templars slammed into her and she cried out, only now remembering to open herself up to it as Solas had instructed. Her back arched as the raw power funneled through her and for a moment, she _was_ the Breach. Every nerve ending thrilled and the rush of emotion was greater than sex or the rush of battle, all the while being more painful than anything she had ever experienced. She had never felt so powerful, and she lost coherent thought until she heard a voice call her name from somewhere beyond her awareness. With effort, she brought her consciousness back to her task, forcing herself to close her fist and pull back with all her might. She willed the Breach to close and held tight, screaming in agony, as it fought against her, threatening to rip her in two.

Just when the pressure swelled to an unbearable apotheosis, there was a very audible snap, and the connection dissolved, throwing Maraas back into the waiting arms of the Iron Bull. An explosion of light engulfed the area, and she pressed her face into his broad chest, clinging to him for dear life. It felt uncomfortably warm for a time, and she didn't lift her head until the heat subsided. All was silent and she looked up to see complete awe on the mercenary captain's face as he stared at the sky. Cheers erupted around the valley, and she glanced around to see everyone was leaping into the air, dancing, embracing, and even kissing. Above them, where the Breach had been moments before, was only a pale, ethereal scar in the heavens. Her eyes met Bull's and she flushed.

She managed to find her voice and said, "I... think I can stand."

"You got it, boss," he said nonchalantly, setting her down. She wavered slightly and he held her by the waist. Her legs weren't quite steady yet and her entire body was still thrumming, so she didn't argue. Red lyrium still sprouted around them, and it gave their surroundings an eerie red light, but it was safe to say the immediate danger had passed.

Her relief was immediately overshadowed with agitation. Though the tear in the sky was healed, the threat still remained. She knew they hadn't heard the last of the Venatori, and Alexius was far from being the mastermind. He was simply a desperate father looking for impossible answers. There was more to this, still more questions, but even as she turned them over in her head, she had to wonder if perhaps her lingering doubt was not also due to the fact that she didn't want this to end. She had found a purpose within the Inquisition, and she didn't want to give it up. This was one job she wasn't willing to walk away from. 

Later that evening, Cassandra found her on the docks which had become her regular brooding spot. The woman took a seat beside her, allowing her legs to dangle over the frozen lake and shared her vigil of the setting sun. "They celebrate your great victory, Lady Herald."

With considerable effort, Maraas stopped herself from telling the woman not to call her that. "The victory belongs to all of us," she said instead. "We all made this happen."

"Through no small part of your own," the Seeker responded. "A night of frivolity, I would say, is well deserved."

"It's not over yet," Maraas said, picking up a stone from a neat pile that sat between the two women. Scowling at it, she chucked it across the ice and watched it skid to a stop before speaking again. "The Venatori and their 'Elder One' are still out there. We haven't heard the last of them."

Cassandra raised a brow and reached for one of the stones in the pile. Studying it, she tossed it as Maraas had done. It skittered across the lake farther than Maraas's had, and she gave the Seeker an appreciative nod. "This is what you do with your spare time?" Cassandra asked dubiously. 

"It helps me think," Maraas said, repeating the process. And it was as close to skipping rocks as one could manage in the colder months.

Cassandra waited for the rock to come to its final resting place before selecting a second one, and tossed it into the air, getting a feel for its weight. She pulled it back and let it fly out even farther than her first. She gave a short, triumphant chuckle in a rare display of amusement, and the two continued their little contest as the sun sank below the mountain tops. "The Inquisition will, of course, need a new focus with the Breach closed," she said after several moments. "Public opinion can change in a heartbeat. But I agree, these Venatori warrant continued investigation."

Maraas picked up a larger rock and hurled it out with as much force as she could muster, letting out a silent laugh as it made it farther than any of the others, bouncing twice before clattering to a stop. She turned to glance at Cassandra, and frowned when she saw the Seeker was gaping up at the mountainside with eyes wide. Maraas followed her line of sight and felt the icy grip of fear settle inside her when she saw the snake of magelights and torches streaming down through the pass.

"We must get back to Haven," Cassandra finally said, but Maraas was already standing and reaching down to help her up. 

The two sprinted hard for the gates and saw others who had ventured out doing the same. Some lovers who had likely been seeking a place for a moonlit tryst stood dumbly staring, and Cassandra shouted at them to get to safety. Cullen stood at the gates, ordering everyone inside. Once the gate was barred behind them, he turned and said, "One watchguard managed to make it back to report. It's a massive force with the bulk of it over the mountain."

Maraas looked around, taking in the village as if she hadn't already memorized the entire grounds. "We'll be overwhelmed."

Cullen's lips tightened grimly and Josephine appeared beside him. "Under which banner do they march?"

"None," the man said, and the women exchanged startled looks.

Something slammed into the gate from the outside, causing Maraas to jump. The boards trembled as if some great force were attempting to gain entry. "I can't come in unless you open," a voice called from the other side, followed by shouting.

Startled, Maraas realized there was a boy beyond the gate trying to get inside. An irrational panic seized her and she rushed to lift the board across the gate. Her advisers all shouted at her to stop, worried it was some sort of trick or that it wasn't worth letting the enemy inside, but she would hear none of their protests. She wrenched it open and ran through in search of the source of the voice, a fear she didn't understand driving her. The ground was littered with corpses, and among them was a crouched figure with a wide brimmed hat. She approached before she realized the boy was holding two daggers dripping blood. Rationality penetrated the fog in her mind and she hesitated just out of arm's reach, her hand reaching for her sword as he looked up.

His grey eyes were sunken and forlorn looking, seeming to pierce right through her. "I am Cole. I came to warn you, to help," he said, standing and taking a step toward her. The confused emotion tugged once again at her, and she resisted the urge to close the gap between them. Cullen and Cassandra appeared on either side of her then, swords drawn, and the boy flinched away. Maraas held her hands out to stay them, and the boy continued. "People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

Her companions scowled at the young man, but she studied him with concern. Tufts of flaxen hair stuck out from beneath the brim of his hat, and he looked as if he hadn't seen a proper bath--or meal--in some time. His face was gaunt and his clothes were practically hanging off from him. "Who are you? Where did you come from?" She asked in a low, even voice, as if she were speaking to a scared animal.

"I already told you," he said patiently. "I'm Cole. The Templars have come to kill you. I couldn't let that happen."

"Templars," Cullen growled, stepping forward to glare at the boy, and then up at the approaching forces. Cole scrabbled back out of his way, and Maraas moved to stand between him and the commander. She felt an inexplicable desire to protect him, and held an arm out to shield him as Cullen raged. "This is the Order's response to us conscripting the mages, then? Attacking blindly?"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One," Cole said quietly to Maraas. "Do you know him? He knows you. You took his mages."

The boy pointed up to a small ridge where two figures had crested to sneer down upon them. One was a fairly ordinary looking man in heavy armor with dark hair. Cullen seemed to recognize him, as his scowl deepened and he snarled, "Samson?" But the other was a dark creature out of legend. It was much larger than even a Qunari, with a macabre, scarred parody of a human face. It looked as if pieces of flesh had been artificially attached to his sinewy skull. One side looked like one solid mass of scar tissue. A hood obscured his head and feathered robes hung off from his frame. Dark, foul magicks twisted about him, and Maraas shuddered to watch his approach.

"What is that thing?" She whispered in revulsion.

"The Elder One," Cole repeated, his gaunt face pale as he looked expectantly up at Maraas. "He is very angry with you. You took his anchor, and then you took his mages."

As if in response, Maraas's hand flared into life, stinging as it did. Lifting it to stare in revulsion, she stuttered, "An... anchor? If he wants it, then maybe-"

"No," Cullen said, gripping her arm. "The trebuchets. There might still be a chance."

Maraas looked down into his eyes, pinched with a mixture of sadness and determination, and shook off the confused emotions flooding through her. "Alright. You and your men guard the gates. I'll make sure they don't touch the trebuchets." She turned to speak with Cole again, but he was nowhere to be found. She made to ask Cullen or Cassandra about it, but they had already returned to the gates to address the soldiers. Bull and a few of his chargers were standing there as well, and the captain was looking at her expectantly. "Bull, what are you waiting for?"

With an anticipatory grin, Bull beckoned for his men to follow and they raced for the trebuchets. They had barely made it there when the first of the so called "Red Templars" emerged. She didn't have to wonder for long what made them red, as she could see the corrupted lyrium sprouting from their bodies and glowing in their eyes. Some had mutated into hideous creatures that towered over even her and Bull. There were Venatori mages and soldiers among them as well, and it proved to be a strenuous battle. Maraas stood back to back with Bull for a time, each heaving their two handed weapons, until she realized more was needed. Summoning her mana and spinning out away from Bull, she released a tide of pure energy to blast the Venatori forces back onto their asses. She risked a glance at Bull as she called forth flames that licked down her arms. He had been busy with the troops and his own men when she had been preparing to seal the Breach, and she hadn't used her magic in front him yet, but if he was surprised, he didn't show it. She seared the enemies that regained their footing, and went on to hurl fireballs until she heard the missiles from the trebuchet hit their mark. They moved on to the second one, and she continued as she had been until it was fired as well. Time sufficiently bought, they beat a hasty retreat back toward the gates. 

Halfway back to the outer village walls, an enormous dragon swooped upon them from out of nowhere, breathing fire and destroying the trebuchets. Wood splintered and pieces flew in all directions. Maraas felt something bite into her upper arm and she looked down to see one such splinter the size of a dagger had sliced through her armor. Gasping in pain, she gripped it and pulled it out, blood immediately spurting out over her gauntlet and down the injured arm. Bull realized she had lagged behind, and turned, eye widening as he took in the blood. 

"Boss!" He called out over the din, running to meet her.

"No! Get to safety!" She shouted, but he ignored her. 

When he reached her side, he tore a strip from his striped trousers to wrap around her upper arm. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her forward and they reached the gates where Cullen was beckoning them inside. Krem and Harritt came up behind them, and after ensuring there were no more stragglers, they barred themselves inside. Their relief was short lived, however, as the dragon's attack had allowed the Red Templars entrance through the walls and the village was now aflame. Cries for help came from every direction, but thankfully, she saw her friends were already at work assisting those who needed help. Varric and Solas were fighting templars outside the Singing Maiden to rescue the tavern maid trapped within, and Bull rushed to join them. She noticed that one of Cullen's Templars was overwhelmed and directed Krem and the other chargers to cover her. Maraas blasted a cluster of enemies with a fireball and rushed toward another voice calling for help. Scaling some scaffolding and ignoring the pain in her arm, she found her way inside a burning building to where Seggrit, the smarmy merchant was pinned by a collapsed piece of the roof. 

Clearing the rubble, she freed him and asked, "Can you walk?"

"Yes," he said, taking a step and promptly stumbling into her. "No."

"Alright, give me a minute." She tried to summon another fireball, or an arcane blast, but found she had depleted her mana reserves. Taking a deep breath, she ran for the burning crates blocking the door, horns first, and burst through. She raced back in through the smoke to shoulder Seggrit, who was staring at her with wide eyes. He nodded his thanks and she led him back to the Chantry where Chancellor Roderick stood stubbornly at the door, calling everyone inside and being held up by the boy from earlier--Cole. She sighed in relief when she saw him. As she neared, she saw the blood soaking the front of the Chancellor's robes, and watched him bow forward awkwardly before finally allowing Cole to lead him inside.

"He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He is going to die," Cole said matter of factly as the doors closed behind her.

"Charming boy," Roderick said.

Maraas sat Seggrit with the other wounded awaiting the healers' attention and Cullen came running for her. "My lady," he said in relief. "Herald. That dragon took back all the time we bought with the trebuchets."

"I saw a dragon like that in the Fade," Cole said. "It was an Archdemon."

"What?" Cullen asked impatiently. "Nevermind. The best we can do now is make them work for it."

"No," she said sadly, refusing to let the tears fall. "He wants the anchor. I can still-"

"No," the commander said abruptly. "I will not allow it."

"He doesn't care about Haven," Cole said. "He will destroy it anyway, even if he gets what he wants."

"So... what? All is lost? All that we've been fighting for?" Maraas took a deep breath to regain composure, but the heat was already licking down her spine and spreading down her arms. 

"The summer passages," Roderick half mumbled weakly, and then broke off, coughing blood.

Cole brought a skin of water to the man's lips and responded to his vague statement. "Yes, that will work." 

Maraas waited patiently, looking between the two of them, hope allowing the heat to subside. "What is he talking about?"

"There is a path... you wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage as I have... Andraste must have shown me so I could... could tell you." He made to stand, and Cole braced him. "Everyone else who knew it was at the Conclave. Maybe this was no accident... maybe you could be... more."

Maraas repressed the urge to throttle the dying man. After all the trouble he had caused since she joined the Inquisition... But if he coule help them escape... "Cullen, can you get them to safety?"

"I can... what?" The commander looked nonplussed, but came to the same realization that she had. "Herald, you need not-"

"The last trebuchet was still standing when we passed it. It could still be. I have to try," she pleaded with him. "I'll distract them at least, and if I can, I'll bury Haven to cover your escape. Just get these people out."

Cullen fumed. "No, I cannot allow it-" 

"Try to stop me!" She snapped, gathering some supplies from what the healers had salvaged. Downing a lyrium potion, she started for the door.

A large hand grasped her shoulder before she could make her exit. "I'm with you, Boss," the Iron Bull said.

"I'm with you, Chief," Krem chimed in behind him.

Dalish and her "bow" came to stand beside him. "I can't very well let you lot get kill, now can I?"

Maraas's argument died as she saw the resolve in their eyes. "Thank you."

"I can see there's no convincing you otherwise," Cullen said resignedly."But perhaps you'll surprise it... find a way..."

"Commander," Maraas said, grasping his arm. "Just get them out."

Cullen nodded, eyes full of emotion. "Good luck, Herald."

As he turned to galvanize the others, Maraas signaled the guards to open the doors and stepped out into the smoke filled night.

 

 

The red templars had flooded Haven, ransacking the burning village. Maraas watched as one drug a badly burnt elven woman from one of the wood cabins by her hair and threw her down among some corpses of others she had missed on the rush to get to the Chantry. She called out, withdrawing her sword, but a giant red lyrium monstrosity joined the others and brought its gnarled clawed fists down upon the screaming woman. By the time her dying sounds had ceased, Maraas and her companions were well entrenched in battle. They had to fight their way through to get to the lower village where the trebuchet sat.

It appeared their luck was improving, as they found the thing intact and functional. Burnt remains of tents and supply stores that had overflowed from the main village when the refugees had began pouring in littered the area. Templars now swarmed it like foul insects, and Maraas charged with her greatsword at the ready.

" _Ashkost say hissra!"_ She cried, slicing through the belly of one and lifting the pommel to smash another in his helmet, stunning him for advantage. "Bull, man the trebuchet! We'll cover you," she called over the din.

With a nod, the mercenary captain did as he was asked. He began the tedious endeavor if positioning the trebuchet while the others beat back the tide of Templars and Venatori. The odds seemed to be tipping in their favor and Maraas wondered if she should praise their Maker for their good fortune...

And then a gargantuan shard of red lyrium slammed into Bull, knocking him from the platform and sending his head into a crate with a crack! Maraas froze momentarily, looking up and *up* at the brute. It was much larger than the red templar horrors they had already encountered inside the walls. The thing brought its fists down, and a wall of red lyrium rose up around her, effectively cornering her.

"Herald.. Of.. Andraste.." A raspy, labored voice came from the behemoth as it seized her by the waist, pinning her arms to her side. She squirmed with all her might as she was lifted into the air and brought level with its horrendous face. She screamed in terror as she stared into its vaporous red eyes and suddenly Krem was there.

"Hey ugly!" He called, slashing out at its leg, and it roared in anger, loosening its grip slightly. She took advantage and released an energy blast. It immediately dropped her and she landed hard on her hip. With effort, she managed to stand, though her leg threatened to buckle beneath her. "Are you able to fight, my lady Herald?"

"It's Maraas. And I didn't make it this far to be taken down by a giant rock," she snarled.

They exchanged a nod and each assaulted one of the creature's legs. Dalish turned every once in a while to blast it was well, and then resumed providing cover fire for Bull as he rounded up the remaining templars. The behemoth howled in rage and brought its fists down again, trapping Maraas and Krem. Fear chilled Maraas to the core, and she felt ice crystals form along her arms. She saw the giant fists coming down again and she closed her eyes, visualizing the icy lake and reached for the fade...

Opening her eyes, she blasted it with ice. She focused all her energy on freezing the creature, and soon it became little more than a block of ice. Bull cut a swath through the templars, and rushed the iced behemoth. Hurling his hammer in a wide arc, he hollered a war cry and brought it down, shattering the beast into so many shards. Beyond him, Dalish's "bow" had unleashed a fire storm on the remaining templars, who ran screaming and trailing flames behind them.  
  
"Good work," Bull said, trying to sound calm, but his eyes gave him away.  
  
"Same to you," she responded warily. "How long have you known?"  
  
"That you were a mage?" He asked with a chuckle. He briefly glanced at Dalish who scowled at him. "Ben Hassrath, remember? Besides, what's being a mage compared to all that creepy, _Fade-y_ shit, boss?"  
  
"Right," she said, laughing nervously. "Now let's get back to-"

The flap of great wings heralded the approach of the dragon. It landed several feet away, spewing snow and ash in its wake, and the strange towering creature from earlier- the Elder One- dismounted from its back.  
  
" ** _Pretender_**!" His voice boomed through the valley, shaking the crumbling remains of the wall. " ** _You toy with forces beyond your ken_.**"  
  
Maraas trembled, but forced herself to stand tall as this thing and its dragon stared her down. "What are you?"  
  
" _ **Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. What I am is beyond you. Know me, what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus!**_ "  
  
The dragon roared at her defiantly and she rocked backward with the force. " _ **Kneel**_!" The thing that was the Elder One, Corypheus, demanded.  
  
" _Hissra_ ," she spat. "I don't fear you, creature."  
  
" _ **You resist. It matters not.**_ " It retrieved a golden orb from its robes with its claw like hand. " _ **I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.**_ "  
  
The orb began to glow with eerie red mage fire, and as she watched, the flame leapt out at her and connected with the anchor on her hand. The strange magic pulled at the anchor, and she felt the strain deep in the muscles of her arm, dropping her to her knees. Whatever magic made the mark, it was now a part of her blood and flesh. Blood seeped anew from the cut she'd sustained earlier and she screamed in agony.   
  
The creature had begun speaking again, but she could no longer hear him over the pain coursing through her and the sound of blood rushing in her ears. "I never wanted this! I didn't ask for this!" She wailed.  
  
She felt the energy recede as the beast stormed toward her and jerked her up into the air by the anchored arm, wrenching it. Up close, she could see the grotesque way his flesh and sinew held him together. The sight alone chilled her to the core, bringing frost once again from her center. It covered her flesh in tiny crystals and spread onto the Elder One's clawed hand. He dropped her with a hiss and she landed awkwardly, causing something to snap in her leg.  
  
" _ **What are you**_?" He roared. Once he had composed himself, he grabbed her by the horn, yanking her upright. " _ **The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it. No matter. You are but a mistake to be corrected. I will right this Blighted world. Beg that I succeed, because I have seen the throne of the gods, and IT WAS EMPTY!"**_  
  
"Keep your illusions, _bas Sarabaas_!" She hissed after she saw Bull nod from the trebuchet- he had seen the flare that meant the others were safe. "Now, Bull!" She cried, and he launched the missile into the mountain with a spray of snow.  
  
Corypheus turned to see what had happened, and in a rage he threw her by the horn, in the process breaking it at the center of the curve. She landed against the Iron Bull's chest, and he cradled her to him as he threw Dalish over his other shoulder, and with Krem in tow, he ran.   
  
Over his shoulder, she saw Corypheus mount his dragon and fly away. She felt Bull vault into the air and panic overtook her as they fell down into the darkness.


	11. A Way Forward

_"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,_  
_An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown._  
_You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr._  
_Within My creation, none are alone."_

_\- Canticle of Andraste 1:7_

 

Cold. Maraas had never felt so cold in her life. Her teeth chattered and her body convulsed. Her arm tingled, on the verge of numbness, feeling as if it had been wrenched out of its socket. She was distantly aware of pain in her leg as well, especially when she moved it. A headache throbbed from her horn, making the room seem to spin. Something brushed against her arm and pain flared anew within it, ripping whimpers from her throat.

"Chief, she's lost a lot of blood," a distraught voice said.

"I know, Krem," another growled in response. "Damn it, we need Stitches."

"Stand aside, you," an accented feminine voice demanded.

Maraas hissed as a hand once again touched her arm, but she relaxed as warmth flowed from the touch and spread through her arm. The warm, soft hand brushed across her face and around the base of her horn. Hands gripped her leg and she felt a crack within it that jarred her teeth, but then the warmth began again. It was the most glorious feeling, almost sensuous and intimate in nature. It intermingled with the pain, and she felt truly delirious.

"I didn't know you knew healing magic, Dalish," the first voice said in awe.

"I'm not a mage," she protested with amusement evident in her tone. "Ancient elven healing practice. Now, help me apply the poultice."

"She looks better," Krem said.

"She looks like she's had too much of that elfroot stuff," Bull countered.

"Just a pleasant side effect. She'll be right by morning."

"She needs to be warmer," Bull argued.

"We're surrounded by ice, Chief."

"The dalish know how to keep warm in these situations." Hands moved her onto a great, hard surface- one that was warm to the touch and beat in time with her heart. "Now you, Krem. Off with your armor."

"But-"

"Don't argue. Unless you want us all to freeze to death."

More warmth pressed against her from behind and from the side. She sighed as she drifted off into the most restful sleep she'd had in a long time.

 

 

 

Maraas breathed deeply and inhaled a very musky and masculine scent. A scent that awakened parts of her that had been dormant for quite some time. To further confuse the situation, she felt the warmth of flesh surrounding her and she moaned despite herself.

"Someone's finally awake," a voice said behind her as a deep laugh rumbled beneath her chest.

Her eyes snapped opened immediately. Her cheek and front were pressed against an expansive gray chest. "Bull. Krem," she said awkwardly, and then the events of- was it yesterday?- came rushing back, and with it, relief. "You're alright. We're alright."

"We are more than alright, boss."

"Chief!" Krem said in embarrassment.

"It's a pleasant way to wake up." Bull shrugged, and the movement of muscles beneath her sent more pleasant pangs through her body.

Maraas realized for the first time that she was bare, save for torn remains of her small clothes. Bull was wearing his usual armor, which wasn't much armor at all. And Krem... "Krem?" Maraas asked in surprise.

"Krem is who _he_ is," Bull said stated matter of factly, and Maraas accepted it without question. She had heard of such cases under the Qun before, though only in passing.

Dalish emerged from a tunnel nearby. "Oh good, you're all awake, finally," she said by way of greeting. "These tunnels seem to stretch out in every direction. They may even connect with the one the Inquisition used to escape, though elves lack the Stone Sense of the dwarves."

Meaning they had no way of navigating them. "Is there an exit?" Maraas asked dubviously, glancing around the cavernous stone room around her. Stalagmites of ice stood in various places.

Dalish shrugged. "The way in is covered in snow, and these all seem to lead deeper."

Maraas wriggled out from between Bull and Krem and began retrieving her gear and reattaching it piece by piece. Once she was decent again, she walked slowly around the room until she was facing a sheet of ice. Reaching out for her connection to the fade, she thought about the previous night, about the warmth she had felt that had kept them alive. Fire danced around her fingers and she stretched them out at the ice. Water began to trickle down, but it was slow progress. Bull protested behind her, but she ignored him, focusing on melting the ice. More flames joined with hers and she glanced over her shoulder to see Dalish aiming her "bow." Maraas nodded gratefully, and soon, an opening was revealed.

When the hole grew large enough, she waved for Dalish to stop and held a single fire ball aloft to light the darkness as she peered within. "This way," she said not bothering to turn around.

If her companions had their doubts, they kept them to themselves. Dalish lifted her staff to resume the process of opening the tunnel, but Bull muttered, "For fucksake. Look out."

No sooner had Maraas stepped out of the way did the Qunari charge horns first through the ice barrier. He cursed and grumbled as the shards sliced his skin, but the way was clear enough for the rest of them. Krem followed Bull, shaking his head, and Dalish followed. Maraas took one last look at the cavern in the light of her fireball and followed suit.

The two Qunari had to lower their heads to keep from scraping their horns on the low cieling, but the tunnel was well carved, indicating it must lead somewhere. Soon they came to another sheet of ice, and rather than turn back, they went through the same melting and crashing process as before. This time they entered into a wide stone chamber with high vaulted ceilings and carefully crafted archways. The original structure seemed ancient, but evidence of more recent improvements could be seen, indicating more recent use. Two separate tunnels branched off in either direction off from the chamber and Dalish and Krem volunteered to scout ahead.

"No," Maraas said simply, shaking her head. As with the iced over passage, she selected the left branch, somehow knowing it to be the way through.

The others hesitated momentarily before following after. The path wound this way and that through the earth, forking twice more, and twice more, Maraas chose one without hesitation. As they walked, Krem abandoned his torch and Dalish let her staff go dark, as the emerald light from Maraas's hand pulsed like a beacon, leading them through the dark. The eerie light cast macabre visions on the stone wall, and all was silent save for the dripping of some water source in the distance.

After what seemed like hours, they came upon another chamber lit with its own source. The smell of fresh air was tangible, and they hurried ahead. As they neared the carved archway, ethereal movements indicated they were not alone. Wraiths and despair demons circled aimlessly, haunting the way forward. The others gripped their weapons, but Maraas continued forward as if in a trance, raising her hand and it flared to life, arcing energy like an emerald bolt of lightning. Her hand opened wide and a rift tore open in the center of the room. A vortex of raw energy seized the demons, who shrieked their protests as they were pulled back into the fade. When the last had disappeared, she closed her fist and pulled it toward herself, sealing the rift with an audible _pop!_  
  
The others stared on with a mixture of awe and horror. "Boss?" Bull asked, eyes wide.  
  
Maraas shook her head, and turned to face him as if she were only now becoming aware of her surroundings. "I don't know how I did that."  
  
"No," Dalish said, her usual confident countenance shaken by what she had witnessed. "But that mark does."  
  
This time they didn't wait around for Maraas to pick a direction. They headed for the one that was emitting light. Air was flowing through, and they all but ran until they emerged from a cave to see the overcast night sky. A gust of frigid air greeted them, and they shivered in their damaged gear.   
  
"Look there!" Krem shouted, rushing for a wooden object barely peaking out of a snow drift.  
  
Bull joined him and they it out, soon revealing an overturned cart filled supplies. The broken wheel axel explained why it had been left behind.  
  
"Chief?" Dalish called from nearby, having cleared snow from what appeared to be the remnants of a campfire near the mouth of the cave.  
  
"The Inquisition passed through here," Mara announced hopefully.  
  
They made a make shift camp near the cave's mouth, under the overhanging rock. Once the campfire was lit, Dalish had set about making a meal from the frosted, but salvageable food stuffs in the cart. The others began piecing together warmer apparel from the linens it contained.   
  
They slept huddled together as they had the first night, Bull taking first watch. When the sky began showing a lighter grey, they took what useful supplies they could and embarked through the snow. Dalish was completely lost in the flurries, but as in the caves, Maraas seemed to know where they were going.  
  
  
  
  
  
Varric sat near the campfire, starting again on the letter he was trying to write before fitfully scratching out the words with his quill. After a moment of snarling at the parchment in front of him, he sat the quill down and stared at the flames before him. The Seeker came into view beyond the fire, hips swaying gently in the smoke filled darkness, almost hypnotically. She gracefully sat atop a log near the one he was leaned against and stared into the flames. The two sat in silence for a time, and Varric studied her features out of the corner of his eye, obscured as they were in the flickering light. The circles around her eyes spoke of how little sleep she had been getting- and indeed, any of them had been getting- since their flight from Haven.  
  
It had been four days since the insane Tevinter and Templar army, fueled by red lyrium, had marched on the village. The people of the Inquisition had lost many of their number, and there had been no sign of their Herald. The people were disheartened, to say the least. Their outlook was bleak, and they weren't sure how to proceed. Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen bickered bitterly, further wounding morale. No one seemed to know what the next move should be, but at least for the moment, they appeared to be safe.  
  
Cassandra inhaled sharply, as if preparing to speak, but let her breath out in a rush and closed her mouth. Varric glanced at her in earnest, one hand in her dark curls and one dangling off from her knee, looking defeated in a way he had not seen the Seeker display previously. For some inexplicable reason, it made his chest hurt. He made his mind up that something had to be done about it.  
  
Stashing his writing supplies in his travel bag, he said, "Looks like we could do with a hand of Wicked Grace."  
  
Cassandra jumped, and then sat up straight. "I'm not sure... I've never played."  
  
"Never played?" Varric asked, shocked. "Well you wait right here, Seeker, and you're going to learn how."  
  
Varric hustled off and returned minutes later with Josephine, Blackwall, Dorian, and Cullen, the last of whom looked bemused with the situation. "Varric, I'm sure you don't need me... I need to organize more patrols-"  
  
"They'll do just fine without you hovering for a few minutes, Curly," the dwarf responded. "I couldn't pry Nightingale away, and Chuckles is busy brooding. Buttercup won't come out of her tent, and I damn bear got an arrow through my chest hairs for my efforts." He paused to look around, alarmed. "I could've sworn that Kid was here a moment ago... Oh well, this group will do."  
  
After arranging everyone to his liking, dealing them in, and a few explanations to the novices, the game was underway. He sat close to the Seeker, coaching her, but he soon realized that a woman whose entire career was built on truth would struggle with such a game.  
  
"I think I understand," she said with a bright smile. "I have three of these-"  
  
"Seeker, I told you to keep your cards to yourself, " he said with an amused grin, gently pushing her hand of cards down as she tried to show him.  
  
"Oh, right," she said sheepishly.   
  
The game began in earnest. Blackwall and Josephine proved cutthroat players, as did Dorian for that matter, who bluffed like no one's business. Cullen had clearly played before, but his tells were the most obvious. The Seeker, if not the strongest player, soon became adept at reading everyone's bluffs.  
  
"Ah-ha!" She said, as she won another hand. "This is more fun than I had expected."  
  
Varric beamed with pride as he watched her light hearted side come out. The almost childlike expression on her face as she arranged her cards in her long fingers brought a smile to his lips. Her laugh as she triumphantly collected gold and silver pieces was infectious and he regret not drawing it out sooner. His chest ached for wholly different reasons, and he rubbed it with a frown.   
  
"Varric?" Josephine asked, concerned.  
  
He blinked, glancing around the expectant circle. "Oh right," he surveyed his hand, for some reason unable to remember his strategy. He was saved from having to think about it as shouting errupted from the edge of camp. A scout joined them, eyes wide.  
  
"It's her," he said excitedly. "We've spotted her."  
  
They didn't need to ask who he meant. Everyone leaped up at once, cards and coins forgotten as they ran for the side of camp where the commotion had started. Varric eyed his cards warily before setting them down so he could join the others. He pushed through a crowd that had already formed and past the perimeter where the snow line had been kept at bay. Ahead, up a hill, figures emerged from around a rocky out cropping.  
  
The Iron Bull looked haggard, but determined as he carried their unconscious Herald dutifully. His lieutenant trailed behind, shouldering the elven mage who stumbled in the snow. Varric's heart burst with joy at the sight, and he blinked to keep tears from forming in his eyes. Their savior had returned to them, and even he couldn't explain that in a way that made sense.  
  
The fanfare swelled as she was taken from the weary mercenary captain by Cullen and another soldier who took her to the make shift infirmary. The healers fussed and the crowds were pushed back. Bull and the others waved away the healers who tried to examine them, and instead collapsed beside Maraas's cot, unwilling to leave her side. The Chargers' healer, Stitches, came over and tended to their minor wounds, and the rest of their number filtered through to embrace their leader and gaze upon the woman he had stood beside. Not a single person was left unaffected by her reappearance.   
  
Varric himself watched all of this from afar. He stood quietly until the camp quieted before he returned to his place by the fire. The others had evidently collected their coin, and someone had thoughtfully gathered his cards as well as his coin into a pouch. He glanced around before putting both in his pack and retrieving his parcel of parchment, quill and ink. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and hastily scrawled out a letter.  
  
  
_H,_  
  
_Believe what you've heard, it's all true. It's time to see for yourself. I'll let you know where we land._  
  
_-V._


	12. The Dawn Will Come

_"The dreamers of old commanded the Fade. The Fade is magic. The Fade is reality itself."_

_-Magister Aurelian Titus_

 

 

_Maraas was falling. Through the very fabric of time and space. Green clouds stretched out as far as she could see and she was falling down into an inky blackness. Things moved in the dark, things that she couldn't see, but she knew they were there. And that they hungered._

_**"I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty..."** _

_The Maker, Andraste. The elven pantheon. Hissra. The Qun was right after all._

**_"I will right this Blighted world..."_ **

_The Elder One. He will unmake this world. The threads that bind... Time itself, this world and the other one... All unraveling. No one can stop it._

_"You will stop him." A pale, gaunt boy with stringy, flaxen hair and a wide brim hat. His grey blue eyes were like the Fade, distant and strange and clouded like its skies. But he made the world feel calmer; made the pain, the anger dissipate like clouds floating away... "I'm glad I help. It's time to wake up now."_

 

 

Maraas's eyes fluttered open and she inhaled deeply. The roof above her was canvas, and only visible by the guttering light of a lantern beside her. Somewhere beyond her immediate surroundings were the sounds of a crackling fire and soft voices. Closer were the sounds of steady breathing and the scratching of quill on parchment. She tried lifting her head slightly, and she winced at the pain it brought. Through the open flaps of the tent she was in, she could see it was night, but the campfire was still going strong and people moved about despite the obvious lateness of the hour. Yet somehow, all seemed so... normal. At least comparatively.

"You're finally awake," a voice came from beyond the lantern light.

"Varric!" She gasped, choking on the dryness of her throat and trying to sit up, but the motion made her head spin and body ache.

"Easy, Firestarter," he said soothingly, putting his parchment to the side. Bianca was propped up beside him like an old friend. "You're still healing and you've been out for a couple days now."

Her lip quirked at the nickname. He seemed to give everyone a new title, and she was pleased to have received her own. She managed to prop herself up enough on the pillows to be comfortable, yet have a better view of the scene around her. She spotted short cropped red brown hair near her leg and realized Krem was asleep with his head propped against her cot. She studied his sleeping form with a mixture of surprise and appreciation.

Varric chuckled. "Kid hasn't left your side since your miraculous reappearance. Everyone keeps checking on you, in fact."

She felt awkward at the notion. She swallowed to alleviate her sore throat and asked, "What about... a boy? Blonde hair, funny hat?"

Varric frowned and scratched his chin. "Oh yeah. Cole, I think his name was. Showed up right before shit hit the fan. I've seen him around camp, though I can't recall where... or what he was doing."

Maraas nodded her understanding. She recalled the boy, though it was difficult- the image was fuzzy. "So what... how..." she trailed off, trying to gather her thoughts. She wanted to know where they were, if Corypheus and his dragon could find them, and how morale was. How many had they lost and how were they going to proceed?

Varric seemed to understand and reached for a cup on the table beside her. He inspected it before pouring water from his skin into it and handing it to her. "I'll leave the explaining to those with fancy titles. I can't tell you much more than I know myself, that we seem to be safe, albeit lost in ass deep snow, though that is an improvement on demons and fire spitting dragons. But..."

"But?" She prompted.

Varric sighed. "This ancient darkspawn magister. I may know more about him."

Maraas pushed herself to sit up this time, wincing as she did. "Varric, if you know something-"

"I know, I know," he said holding his hands up. "I won't hold anything out on the Inquisition if it can be helpful to our cause. But, give me some time. None of this shit makes sense."

Maraas nodded her understanding, thin lipped. She wouldn't push him. For now. She took another sip from the cup and asked, "How are you holding up? After Haven?"

The dwarf chuckled, a deep rumble from his chest. "She steps out of the fade. Goes through time. Sacrifices herself and comes back to life-"

"I didn't die," she protested. "And Bull and the others-"

Varric waved her off. "Details. Point is, you've been through a lot. How are _you_ holding up?"

Maraas took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring through the flaps of the tent. Her advisors were gathered on the other side of the fire around a table. Their expressions and motions indicated their conversation had become heated. She didn't have to hear them to know they were arguing about their next move. She couldn't blame them; she was at a loss also. "I wish we knew more about what we were dealing with," she said quietly. "I wish I'd been able to stop them. I wish people would stop thinking of me as holy."

Varric followed her line of sight and hummed his acknowledgment. "I had a friend-"

"Hawke," she said with a smile.

He laughed. "Hawke. He resented that whenever shit went down, people always seemed to look to him. But someone had to put out the fire."

"Is this where you lecture me about power and responsibility?" She asked, but her lips quirked.  
  
Varric gave another short laugh. "I'll spare you the lecture. But look at everything you have done. To these people, you are a strong sign that someone can hear their prayers. Our prayers."

"Why Varric, are you Andrastian? I thought the dwarves worshipped the Stone?"

"Didn't spend my life underground, remember?" He said with amusement.  
  
Maraas realized he was right and she blinked back a tear. "And how do you see me?"  
  
He smiled nervously. "I'm a businessman. I don't really know how to do this disciplehood thing. I've never really followed a chosen one..."  
  
"I don't need a disciple, Varric," she interrupted, meeting his eyes. "I... I need a friend."  
  
His expression softened at her earnestness. "Now that I can do." He stood, slinging Bianca back over his shoulder and stretched. "I should leave you to your rest, my lady herald," he said stepping over to the open tent flap. "And Firestarter, the horn is beautiful. It lends to the whole battle hardened savior image."  
  
She smiled her thanks as he slipped out of her tent, tentatively reaching up and touching the rough edge where it had broken. Kaaras's face appeared suddenly in her mind, and she wondered what he would think of it. What he would think of any of this. Herald of Andraste? Complete _hissra_ , of course. And if this Corypheus was to be believed, nothing existed in the heavens to even send a herald to the people's aid. But perhaps if they needed a savior, she could do her best to give them one. It was a tremendous responsibility, but as Varric had stated, someone had to do it.  
  
The healers drifted in once they heard she was awake, and fussed over her until Mother Giselle came in and shooed them away. "Our herald awakens," the older woman said warmly.  
  
Maraas slowly rose to sit upright, twinging slightly. "Mother Giselle. Are we safe here?"  
  
"For the time being," she responded, eyes flicking briefly to Krem, who still slept beside the cot. "We are not even sure where here is. And that is likely why the enemy does not either."  
  
"Bull filled everyone in then?" At the Mother's nod, she continued. "And what do we make of this Corypheus?"  
  
Mother Giselle took a deep, calm breath before she spoke. "Scripture tells us Magisters of Tevinter entered the Fade to reach the Golden City. A crime for which they were cast out as darkspawn."  
  
"But a monster out of Chantry legend?" Maraas slowly stood from the cot, groaning as she did, and moved to peer outside. "He claimed he reached the Golden City, and that the heavens were empty."  
  
Mother Giselle watched her progress with concern. "If he entered that place, it has changed him without and within. The living are not meant to make that journey. Perhaps this is a lie he must tell himself, rather than accept that he earned the scorn of the Maker."  
  
Maraas scanned the camp and realized that her advisors were now sulking in separate corners. Even the usually stoic Spymistress was barely concealing her distress with the situation, and it made Maraas's heart clench. Frost that had nothing to do with the weather had begun nibbling at her forearms and she rubbed them to dispel the energy. Mother Giselle came to stand beside her and she forced herself to breathe calmly.  
  
"If even a shred of it is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him," the Mother continued.  
  
"I am not chosen," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, but the retort sounded weak even to her. She squared her shoulders and started again. "I didn't die and return. I survived against nearly impossible odds, perhaps. But that was thanks in no small part to the Iron Bull and his Chargers."  
  
"Perhaps," the Mother conceded. "But the Maker works both in the moment and in how we remember it." Maraas stifled a sigh. The faith of this woman must truly be unshakeable. "Will you not even consider that there is more than you can see with your own eyes? As a mage, you know of things unseen. You have seen and touched that which the rest of us have scarcely dreamt of. Surely you believe there to be more than you have perceived?"  
  
Maraas glanced down at the Chantry Mother and started at the intensity in her eyes. She swallowed, blinking back tears, and stepped out into the brisk night. "I don't know what I believe anymore," she mumbled, looking imploringly up at the stars.

 

 

 

 

A song, an enchanting melody. Of a dawn to come after a long darkness. One for the religious types to be sure, but it moved Maraas in a way she couldn't find words for. She had never felt anything quite like it. Even Cullen--even Bull and the Chargers, in fact everyone--had joined in, somehow carried by the words. It was a rare sort of magic--one might even call it the spirit faith. 

As she swam inside that song, she felt the weight of all her burdens lift. She sensed a presence, something watching her, but she felt somehow at ease in its scrutiny. At first thought it to be the strange boy she had seen before, but she couldn't get a good look. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a woman in the crowd, though she disappeared into it before Maraas could see anything more than a wisp of white hair.  
  
"A word?"  
  
Solas's sharp voice disrupted the trance, and she shook her head to dispell the stars that seemed to have appeared all around her. The elf slipped between the gathered members of the Inquisition as little more than a shadow. In a slow, dreamlike gate, she followed him through the snow to a small dais with a single torch which he lit with a wave of his hand. The camp and the others faded from view and the snow fell everywhere around them, but seemed to part around the platform where the stood, kept at bay by the mage light.  
  
As soon as Maraas's focus centered onto Solas, he spoke. "The orb Corypheus possessed, the magic in your mark. It is elven."  
  
Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn't this. She tried to shake off the clouds that seemed to linger around her head to consider what he was saying. "Where would he find such an artifact? Could an elf be working with him?"  
  
"Anything is possible, but we do not have enough of the facts," he said dryly. "One thing is certain-"  
  
"They will blame your people," she interrupted.  
  
He looked slightly taken aback for a moment. "Yes, that is quite likely. He may think it Tevinter in origin. His people did build their empire upon the bones of the Elvhen, afterall."  
  
"What is it? What does it do?" She asked dreamily, envisioning the orb Corypheus had produced when he tried to take back the mark.  
  
"A foci," he said, narrowing his eyes at the falling snow flurries. "They were used to channel ancient magicks. I have... seen such things in the Fade." He was silent for a moment, and she stared at the white fluff beyond the the magelight, strangely entranced. When he spoke again, she jumped. "Corypheus risks our alliance. But there are steps we can take."  
  
Solas waved his hand over the torch again and the flames burned brighter, taking on new life. As she looked on, the mountains beyond the light grew closer, until she felt as if she were soaring over their tops. The night rolled out before her, as did the Frostbacks, until a fortress came into view. It was somehow ancient and new all at once, as if she were seeing two images imposed over one another. It was disorienting, but it was breathtaking.  
  
She found herself padding across the smooth stones of a bridge, reveling at the vibrations rising through her feet. A humming filled the air, a long forgotten song. She couldn't make out the words, but it was not unpleasant to hear. She placed her hands upon the rough half wall and peered over the edge at the long drop to the snow covered peak and found herself wondering how long it would take to fall to the bottom...  
  
"Let's not get too curious, shall we?" Solas was suddenly leading her gently away from the ledge.  
  
She turned and took in his expression, an awe playing at the corner of his lips that reflected the one she felt growing inside. "What is this place?"  
  
"Skyhold," he replied, looking at the gates before them, and she followed his line of sight. "It awaits for a force to hold it. It awaits new purpose. You will lead them here. You will claim it."  
  
"Me?" She asked in a daze.  
  
"The Inquisition can build. Your cause can grow," he murmured behind her as she took in the outer walls, and beyond them, a castle with stained glass windows, a courtyard to weep for, room for a village, a lower bailey with stables... it was everything the Inquisition could have hoped for. Everything it needed for their cause.  
  
"Solas, I-" Maraas started to ask, but when she turned around, she found herself alone at the edge of camp. A horse snorted behind her and she jumped. "How strange."  
  
She couldn't remember quite where she had been or how she had gotten there, but she knew she had to gather her advisors at once. They had a destination, and they should be ready to leave at dawn.


End file.
